Shift
by Jessa4865
Summary: Snow is never going to give up on catching Reese, but Carter is never going to give up on protecting John. Carter/Reese 10 parts total
1. Chapter 1

Shift  
Jezyk  
Spoilers: Through Masquerade  
Disclaimer: Not mine.  
AN: This has been described as an angst-filled hellhole. Just a heads up.

Part One

In retrospect, she would have liked to say she knew. She wanted to have seen some clue, had some feeling, somehow instinctively knew that something was wrong, that something huge was about to change. Carter wasn't usually one to be blindsided by the universe. In fact, it had only happened twice.

The first had been the day she received word that her husband had died. She'd been having her lunch, actually laughing with a few of the men in her unit in Afghanistan that seemed to have some kind of morals and joking about how nice it would be to head home to New York City where the temperature in July usually dipped below 100 degrees at night. Two officers she didn't recognize walked into the mess, their full dress uniforms silencing everyone in the room. Even as they stepped up to the table, she hadn't understood. She'd assumed one of her friends was about to be in deep shit. Instead, she'd slowly felt all the eyes at the table and in the room fall on her. They asked her to accompany them and as she did, her mind was reeling, wondering what horrible thing she'd done that would result in a court martial. And then she'd heard the news that turned her world upside down.

The second, well, it too started out as a regular day. She'd gotten Taylor off to school early enough to grab a bite to eat on her way into the office. Grabbing an extra coffee for the partner who'd bought her a drink the evening before to celebrate discovering that they were on the same side and because they realized they were friends after all, she was actually smiling as she dropped it on Fusco's desk.

As she turned away to head to her desk, she saw a familiar, unwelcome shape, as well as an unfamiliar one, in Womack's office and even still, she thought it was just going to be an irritation. Her smile changed to a grimace as she glowered at Snow's back. Apparently he'd been un-reassigned. She'd wondered about his obvious nerves the last time she'd seen him, had assumed wrongly that he'd been upset over the death of his partner.

When she'd first heard of Evans' death, she'd wished it had been Snow. She'd always hated him more, until she'd thought about it. The night John had been shot, Snow had been with her, engaging John, keeping him still, which meant that Evans had been the shooter. She was glad he was dead. If only Snow was too.

"Who are they, Carter? They've been in there since before I got in." Fusco hadn't seemed too concerned until he saw his partner's face.

"Bad news." She glanced around to make sure no one would overhear. "CIA."

Fusco's eyes widened. "Wonderboy?"

Her glare turned on Fusco for a moment. She hated the term he used for John, hated that everyone seemed to be so sure that John was superhuman. She'd seen, more than once, how very human John was. She never wanted to see him bleeding again, but she knew that was too much to hope for.

She reached for her phone, hoping to send a 911 text to John, but the damn thing was busy restarting, an irritating quirk it had developed after she'd dropped it too many times. Watching the stupid graphics, she willed it to hurry up.

Movement in the captain's office drew her attention back, Snow and the new guy both moving toward the door. The timing couldn't be a coincidence. They'd been waiting for her. She scribbled a note as fast as she could while they approached.

"Detective Carter," Snow's smile could only be described as predatory. "You need to come with us."

She didn't move. "Where?"

Snow's fingers clenched around a file folder in his hands. "We need to have a little chat."

Her eyes darted to Fusco, wishing she had enough history with him for nonverbal communication. She was in trouble. Judging from the way Womack was smirking at her from his office, she knew it was bad. Very, very bad. Refusing to let her fear show, she folded her arms over her chest and sat back in her chair. "I'm busy. Maybe some other time."

The new guy reached out to take to folder from Snow, giving his partner time to produce handcuffs. Snow grinned and stepped toward the side of her desk. "We can do this the hard way. It's up to you." The gleam in his eyes told her he had her and he knew it. He'd be happy to march her out of the precinct in cuffs. He'd be happy to shoot her where she sat.

She nodded and grabbed her bag. "I assume you'll tell me what this is about. Your new assignment is watching me?"

"You're in no position to assume anything, detective." Snow was smiling, a disgusting, malicious expression that made Carter regret having eaten breakfast.

She stood, deliberately taking a long time to gather her things, hoping like hell they didn't see the piece of paper she palmed while she was putting her phone in her bag. It was her only chance to get out of this, whatever this was, and it was a long shot. Still, it seemed the pair of CIA agents were too busy smirking at each other over their victory to notice when Carter tossed the paper toward Fusco's desk on her way out.

She glanced back just before they turned into the hallway, seeing her partner pouring over the words 'call John' like it was an opus. It only occurred to her as she was riding in the car that she wasn't even sure Fusco had John's number.

#####

Riding in the backseat of a black SUV with tinted windows alongside the new partner, the gravity of the situation struck her. She'd been forced to hand over her bag and weapon and was apparently in the custody of an agency that technically didn't work within the borders of the country. She was in far deeper trouble than she'd realized. The only thing she had going for her was the thought that they wanted something from her. They'd long suspected she'd been working with John and now, clearly they had proof, something strong enough that had merited Snow's reassignment. Her stomach twisted in nervousness. She never paid attention anymore if someone was following her or if anyone saw her with John. Clearly she needed to be more careful.

She had no idea what, if anything, John would be able to do, but he was her only hope. Of course, that would probably backfire since John was what they really wanted. She squeezed her eyes closed and prayed. There was nothing else she could do.

They pulled into a parking garage under a nondescript office building. No name gathered some files from the back while Snow opened Carter's door, dragging her from the truck by her arm. She jerked her arm back, mostly as a show of defiance, partly because she was afraid his kind of sleaze was contagious.

He sneered and took her arm again. "I'm happy to cuff you."

Wanting to avoid losing another bit of her freedom, she unhappily walked beside the bastard who was holding her upper arm harder than he needed to. He led her to an elevator, pressing the button for the twenty-eighth floor as no name stood on her other side. It was psychological, she reminded herself, the same way they had done with terror suspects. The lack of communication, the threats, the intimidation. It was meant to break her, to make her question what she believed, to convince her that she was helpless, to persuade her to save herself.

She closed her eyes and reminded herself that John would protect her. She'd earned his friendship. She knew he'd stop at nothing. No matter what they tried to tell her, she had to keep her faith in her friend.

She was ushered to a small interrogation room, painfully bright, uncomfortable chairs, enormous mirror filling one wall. Snow shoved her toward the table. Then he smiled and tossed the folder in front of her.

"We've got you now. You need to think about saving yourself, honey."

Rather than the loud, angry interrogation she expected, they left her alone. The pair filing out the door and locking it behind them, leaving her to contemplate the folder. The edges of a few pages had slipped out when he dropped it, only enough for her to know they were pictures, of what, she couldn't tell. She knew she was expected to open it, to see this evidence of theirs, to hear his threat ringing in her ears, to weigh her options and decide to cooperate by the time they returned.

But they didn't know her. They knew that she'd doubted John once, that she'd let them manipulate her. They didn't know the unconditional way he'd forgiven her and accepted her as a friend. Yes, she'd doubted him once. She'd never do it again.

Refusing to give into the temptation to look at the photos, she stepped around the table, to the side facing the mirror as she knew she was supposed to, and sat down. She could play the game as long as she needed to. John would come for her.

It took forever for them to return. She knew they were on the other side of the mirror, watching her, waiting for her to break, expecting she'd give in and peek at the folder. Every moment that went by, however, only served to strengthen her resolve. Every moment that went by was one moment closer to John getting her out of there.

They gave before she did, slipping quietly into the room, displeasure at her behavior written all over their faces. The new partner sat down first, his face a careful blank as he clasped his hands together and rested them on the table.

"Look, Detective Carter, I understand that you have come to view us as the enemy, but we're not trying to hurt you. In fact-" he glanced up at his partner in a perfectly practiced attempt to play good cop, "Frankly, we don't want you. We're CIA. A New York City detective with a good record is nothing to us. We won't get anywhere locking you up."

Snow jumped in, slamming his fists onto the table and leaning into Carter's face from the opposite side. "We want Reese. Give us Reese and we can go easy on you."

She fought to keep the smirk off her face. She'd always assumed that the tactical errors she'd caught them making were deliberate, like when John appeared to have made a mistake. But she was starting to suspect John really was better than them. He certainly hadn't ever tried two classic interrogation techniques on her in less than thirty seconds.

"You don't have anything on me or you would have arrested me." She looked past Snow into the mirror, fixing her stare at her own reflection, reminding herself of John, of his easy smirk and captivating eyes and velvet voice that she could practically hear telling her he would be there.

Snow grabbed the folder, taking out the photos, spreading them out in front of her. "Nothing? We've got you and Reese in Corpus Christi together."

Her heart skipped a beat as she nonchalantly glanced down at the grainy security camera prints. Shots of her heading through the airport and at the rental car counter. Shots of John, same airport, same day. But none together. It made perfect sense now that John had insisted on taking a separate flight and not meeting up with her until the police station. It only took her a second to recognize the bluff. She shrugged. "Yeah, I went to Texas to assist on a case. Helped the local sheriff close a kidnapping from 1991."

Snow shoved the pictures of her aside and pulled one of John in front of her. "What the hell was he doing there?"

"How should I know?" She shrugged again. "I've already reported that he has followed me in the past. I don't know why he was there." She turned to no name. "Should I file a report that he's stalking me? Will that help? I think it would be a waste because he's clearly not trying to hurt me, but if that's what it'll take to get you off my back, I'll do it."

He leaned in, his voice infinitely softer than Snow's shouts. "Detective, this man is dangerous. He's very charismatic, that's why he was recruited in the first place, but you need to understand that he is going to hurt you. Just because he hasn't tried yet, doesn't mean he's not going to. It's really just a question of when."

She held the man's eyes as she thought about the way John had appeared out of nowhere to save her from a bullet, the way he'd solemnly promised her that he wouldn't let anything happen to her son, the gentle way he'd gripped her hand when he'd returned her son safe and sound. John was nothing like these bastards. John was a good man. And she hated anyone who wanted to hurt him.

Her lip curled in a snarl as she repeated something John had once said to her. "I'll take my chances."

Snow sighed. "It's funny you say you were in Texas for work since your captain doesn't know anything about it."

"I had information from an anonymous source regarding the case. I knew the captain would tell me to work local cases, but I couldn't do that with a clear conscience. So I took a day off and helped find the body of a fourteen-year-old so her father could bury her. Sue me."

Snow faked a smile at her story, then cocked his head to the side. "There aren't that many motels in the area and we only managed to find one that recalled having guests who weren't there for deer season. The proprietor told us he clearly remembered renting a room to a couple in suits, one African-American woman and a white man. He also recalled her being upset with the accommodations."

Carter kept her face completely blank while she thought of that awful room, the hideously gun-happy hunters who'd been eyeing them. There had to be a hundred witnesses. John had slipped. She shook her head. "I don't know what to tell you. I'd have to be insane to run off to Texas with a wanted criminal and pretty damn desperate to share a room with him." There, half true. She was insane, no doubt about that. She smiled at Snow. "He was mistaken. I stayed alone." That was true too, John had run off with a chartered flight and left her to make her own arrangements to get back home. They could give her a bible and she'd happily swear she slept alone in that room that night.

Undeterred, Snow produced another stack of papers, a list of cell phone activity. "We've noticed a pattern with your phone too. Besides the standard calls to your son, your mother, a few friends, you have a series of calls to and from disposable cells. Each numbers lasts a little while, then goes away."

"I believe that's the point of disposable phones."

"You want to tell us who you're talking to?"

"I'm a homicide cop. I call a lot of numbers and get a lot of calls. Most of the time we discover that the phones are disposed of before we're able to catch up to the owners. Now if you guys have information as to the owners of these phones, the NYPD sure would appreciate some help…" She knew damn well there was no way to trace those phones. Finch would never allow John to use a phone that was any kind of a danger, even if John wasn't sufficiently trained himself.

Catching sight of the empty folder, knowing Snow had nothing concrete, she pushed her chair back from the table and stood. "Now, I assume we're done here?"

Snow didn't answer, instead turned and left the room, leaving no name to threaten her. "Don't leave town, detective. This isn't over."

She waited until she'd been escorted past security and had her bag returned and walked six blocks before she let out a breath. A shaky one. No, they had nothing concrete, but they knew. They'd known all along and with his friend in danger, John had gotten sloppy. And damn it, she'd let her desire for John's company blind her.

Snow would be back. Snow was never going to give up.

It was up to her to protect John and make sure Snow never caught up to him.


	2. Chapter 2

Part Two

#####

By the time she made it back to the station, her fear had given way to anger. How dare they come after her. How dare they think she was going to decide to hand over a man they knew she'd been protecting for months because they presented her with a pile of circumstantial evidence. How dare they march her out of the precinct like they had in an attempt to scare her. How dare they think anything they could do to her would convince her to betray her friend.

Like fucking hell.

She tossed her bag in her drawer, knowing it was full of bugs and trackers and who knew what else, then crossed over to Fusco's desk. "Take me to lunch."

He glared at her. "It's 11:15." Then he turned back to his phone.

"I've had a rough day. Let's go."

Fusco tried to pocket his phone, but Carter grabbed it and dropped it into a drawer. He looked up at her curiously. "That should stay here."

"Do you still need me to-"

"Outside, Fusco. Now." She dragged him to a bar around the corner from the precinct, slid onto a stool, and ordered herself a beer.

Fusco stared open-mouthed for a moment before he ordered water. "Ok, what the hell, Carter?"

"The CIA knows I was in Texas with John. I can't talk to him or Finch. You either."

"You told me to call him." He sipped from his water. "He said he was busy and hung up before I could say a damn thing." He shrugged not quite apologetically.

"Good." She looked at the beer the bartender had left for her and nodded at him. "On second thought, I'll have a shot of whiskey."

"Good?" Fusco watched as she downed the shot and followed it with a beer chaser. "Carter, what the hell is going on? First, you're carted off by the CIA and now you're drinking in the middle of the day."

Carter spied a booth in the back, far away from the windows and doors and prying eyes. She grabbed her beer and made the decision to involve Fusco. If nothing else, it would be safer for John in the long run. "How much do you know about John's history?"

Another shrug from Fusco. "Nada. Didn't even know his name until you said it. His friend knows a lot of stuff he obviously shouldn't and Wonderboy helps him out."

"He used to be CIA. I don't know all the details about him leaving, but he did and now they want him dead." Her stomach was rolling from the nerves and the whiskey. She'd never been a hard drinker and she realized she never would be, not even as the pleasantly dulling buzz took the edge of some of the anxiety.

"Maybe they don't want him dead, Carter. Maybe they just want to question him or something."

She squeezed her eyes closed and wondered if Fusco was an idiot or if he was just trying to make her feel better. "No, Fusco, they want him dead. I helped them once when I thought that was all they wanted, when I thought John should be stopped. They tried to kill him and they know I'm in contact with him. They're going to try to get to him through me again and I honestly don't think they're going to stop until he's dead." Despite her realization that she shouldn't even try, she suddenly remembered why she'd needed a drink.

John was going to die. That was the only outcome. There was no other way for this to end.

Unless she cut ties with him completely.

As much as she hated it, she had no other choice.

"So the FBI wants him dead too?" Fusco looked like someone had stolen his lollipop. It was reassuring to Carter to see that her partner kind of liked John too.

"No, Donnelly is really interested in information John has. He wants proof that the CIA is operating on US soil. He figures if he captures John, John will have no choice but to tell the truth to save himself."

"And you think Wonderboy-"

"Fusco," she growled.

"Sorry, John, happy? You think John will give Donnelly what he wants and join witness protection or something?"

"No, John's not going to give anyone anything and neither are we. I know they're tailing me, probably you too." She leaned forward and held Fusco's eyes. "So no contact with John or Finch. Don't call them. If they call you, hang up. Get a disposable cell."

Fusco scoffed. "Look, if you want to be all paranoid, knock yourself out. Leave me out of it. Wonderboy and I aren't on the best terms. If I don't do what he says, he'll make my life a living hell."

"And what do you think the CIA will do? Trust me, you don't want them fucking around in your life." She took another sip of her beer. "John will catch on quick. He'll realize we're not going to tell him anything over the phone. When he finds you, just tell him that we're dealing with something and to stay away."

"Don't you think he'll wonder what 'something' is? Am I supposed to tell him?"

"No!" She thought about smacking Fusco across the face as she questioned John's wisdom in including her thick-headed partner in his exploits. "He can't know he's involved." Shaking her head, she realized exactly what he'd do. "If he finds out I'm in trouble because of him, Fusco, he'll do something stupid. He can never know. Never."

"You mean he'll do something stupid to protect you again." Rolling his eyes, Fusco chuckled. "Yeah, he's a little protective." He was still grinning when he winked. "He's got a thing for you, you know."

The unexpected statement shocked her. Considering the day she was having, hearing something not frightening, not bad, not unwelcome was enough to throw her for a loop. Though the idea was preposterous, it still made her smile. "That's ridiculous. I've seen his type." She recalled the pictures she'd seen of John's knockout girlfriend, of the photo she still had hidden in her house of John and Jessica together. "Think model."

Fusco sized up her expression. Reputation be damned, the man was a good detective. "You didn't have to deal with him when he was worried about you. He's got a thing for you, Carter," he repeated with a wider grin. "And I don't think you mind it one bit."

Fusco was right. She didn't mind. In fact, she liked it. A lot. She wanted him to like her the way she liked him. She wanted him to be interested in her the way she was far too interested in him. She'd thought it was too much to ask.

Hell, if it hadn't been for a ridiculous crush, she would never have been in this situation. John had asked her once, the first time they'd met on purpose, why she'd sought him out. She'd fed him a bunch of bs about his work. Now that she knew him better, she knew he must have known, the man always knew when someone was lying. Still, he'd left her that bit of dignity and hadn't pressed her to admit she wanted to work with him because she wanted to be around him.

Fusco was full of shit most of the time, but in this instance, he had no reason to lie. So maybe John's discretion hadn't had a damn thing to do with protecting her feelings; maybe he'd been worried about revealing his own. John certainly hadn't been the least bit reluctant to trust her, hadn't hesitated to give her information about who he was investigating and where he'd be and when he'd be there. He'd willingly put his life and freedom in her hands the first time they'd talked after she'd nearly gotten him killed. It was certainly something to think about.

Perhaps Fusco was brighter than he looked. Perhaps she wasn't the only one with a crush.

She fought back the embarrassed smile. "Fusco, keep your eyes on the prize here. If Snow thinks you have information on John, he won't mind killing you for it. It's not just John who's in danger. It's all of us. Protecting John is protecting yourself."

Holding up his hands in surrender, Fusco nodded. "Ok, ok, I'll avoid him. But when he threatens my life, I'm sending him your way."

Carter nodded, sliding out of the booth. "That's fine. You do that for me and I promise, if this goes bad, your name doesn't come up."

Fusco laughed and fell in step beside her. "Like Wonderboy is going to let you fall on your sword without both of us falling on ours first."

And though, any other day, she would have liked to revel in the thought that John actually cared about her beyond her worth as a contact in the police department, under the circumstances, it was the worst thing she could fathom.

And unfortunately, she suspected Fusco's words were entirely accurate.

#####

Carter spent the afternoon transferring all her pictures and contacts to her computer, planning on trashing her cell on the way home. She left messages for Taylor and her mom to let them know not to use that number anymore. People were so used to catastrophes with phones anymore that she knew no one would bat an eyelash. Sorting through her bag in an attempt to find whatever Snow had hidden, she heard Fusco's phone ringing and looked up to find his eyes on hers when he answered.

He hesitated for a brief moment. "Sorry, you got the wrong number."

After a respite of only a few days, she was back to wondering whose side her partner was on. "Jesus, Fusco, why didn't you just scream for help?" He couldn't have been more obvious in Carter's mind. She crossed over to his desk and leaned down to whisper her threat. "Anything happens to him, Fusco, and I'll kill you myself."

Fusco glowered up at her. "Why don't you two just get a damn room already?"

By the time she got back to her desk, her phone was ringing. Knowing exactly who it was and feeling sick for having to do it, she ignored the call. She turned off the phone before he could leave a message or call back. She knew John would worry. And once he ascertained that she and Fusco were physically all right, he'd be hurt. Whether he showed it or not, John was human. A human with only a few friends. She'd seen how upset he'd been when Finch was missing; she knew how much he depended on each of them. Losing her and Fusco was bound to cut deep. He would do everything in his power to get his friends back. Given Fusco's behavior, John would know something was wrong and it would probably send him into protective mode.

Too bad. John was getting protected this time.

#####

Paranoia had gotten the better of her. She determined everything in her bag was suspect, even the "World's #1 Mom" keychain Taylor had given her for mother's day when he was eight. She locked her purse in her desk and headed home with only a little cash, her badge, gun, and house key. The two phones she carried were quickly disposed of; she dropped them in front of a bus' tires as it slowed to make a right turn. She checked that both were completely destroyed before she ducked into the next market and bought herself a cheap replacement with cash. She was as sure as she could possibly be that she was bug-free, but she really wished she could ask John to double check. Instead she had to be satisfied with her own work. She called Taylor to let him know she was on her way.

As she waited at a corner for the walk signal, she noticed a man waiting a little ways away. Something felt off about him and she kept an eye out as she walked. At the next corner, she spotted the curled clear wire running from his ear piece.

Of course they were following her. They expected she'd lead them to John. They expected she'd run to John to tell him what had happened, and considering that she'd ditched any surveillance equipment they might have had on her, she knew trailing her in person was all they had.

Fuck them.

She didn't even bother losing them. She headed straight home where she'd be able to think in peace for a few hours.

There wasn't any peace to be had, though. Her paranoia came back, telling her things had been moved while she was out. A couple of knickknacks seemed out of place, a painting in her bedroom looked crooked, her computer had restarted. Nothing big, but enough to convince her Snow and his ilk had been there, gone through her stuff, invaded her privacy, violated her in a way she couldn't defend.

After a dinner where she mostly pushed food around on her plate and brushed off Taylor's concerned inquiries about her day and her phone and what was bothering her, she told him to pack some clothes and expect to spend several days with his grandmother. Though she knew Snow would be well aware of whether or not Taylor was in the house, she wouldn't put it past him to scare the hell out of her kid simply because he could. With Taylor gone, Carter could be as paranoid as she wanted without having to explain herself to anymore.

She would have liked to sit up all night with all the lights on to keep her from being scared, but she wasn't about to let Snow know he was getting to her. Forcing herself to turn out the lights and get in bed as usual, she only made one small change - her gun tucked under her pillow where she could get to it without making any noise.

The adrenaline rush of the day hadn't waned, leaving her to stare wide awake at the ceiling for half the night.

Luckily, it also left her wide awake when she caught the almost imperceptible click of her front door unlocking.


	3. Chapter 3

Part Three

She'd never moved as quietly as she did at that moment. Her hand reached for her gun and she climbed to her feet, slipping silently along the wall separating the bedroom from the living room. Taking a deep breath, she found herself hoping it was Snow. She'd have every right to shoot him as an invader in her home. It would be perfect, allowing her to go back to her normal life.

Too perfect, she knew, as she rounded the corner.

Her gun was raised, her shoulders squared, her demeanor as threatening as possible given her attire - a ratty gray Snoopy nightshirt.

Her clothes made no difference to the man who bested her before she even knew he was there. She'd been quiet, but he'd been trained. His hand clamped over the mouth, effectively preventing any cry for help she might have uttered. His other hand moved quickly, his thumb and forefinger applying pressure in exactly the right spot to make her drop her gun instantly. Once he'd disarmed her, he grabbed her wrist and locked it around her waist.

She only had a millisecond to panic when she heard his voice, soft and familiar, yet far closer than it had ever been, his breath tickling her ear as he whispered.

"Shh, Carter, it's me." John's hold released immediately, expecting his presence would calm her.

Instead her eyes widened as she grabbed his arm, pulling him away from the light that peeked through the sliding door. He opened his mouth to issue some snarky remark, but she slapped her hand over his mouth and put a finger to her lips to shush him. It was too dark in the shadows to see him, but she felt his nod against her hand. Satisfied he would be quiet, she moved her hand to his lapel and dragged him back out the door.

The problem, she realized, was that she had no idea where to go. She couldn't be sure anywhere in her building was safe to talk and she wasn't dressed to leave. She settled for the stairwell, figuring she'd hear anyone opening a door to listen in. She let go of his jacket and turned to face him.

He didn't need to say a damn thing about her shirt; his smirk said it all.

She wanted to smile and joke with him, let him tease her until she blushed. But she thought of Snow and his partner and how they'd dragged her off for questioning, knowing her face would be completely unwelcoming. "Leave. Don't come here again."

For once, John didn't have a flippant comeback. He just looked at her. The vulnerability in his eyes about broke her heart.

Until she remembered that was exactly why she was doing it.

Still, she ached saying it. She ducked her head and told the floor rather than facing him. "It's work," she lied. "I'm being investigated, Fusco too. We're both in deep shit here, so you need to leave us alone."

He stepped closer, probably trying to make eye contact. "I can help, Carter. Finch and I can take care of it. First thing tomorrow. It'll be fine."

She shook her head, still unable to look at him. "No, John-"

"You should have just told me. Shit, I thought something was really wrong." The man had never been much of a talker; the fact that he was babbling revealed his nerves, his worry, his upset with the idea of her pulling away, his attachment to her.

She lifted her eyes to his again and slowly shook her head. Underneath the bravado, she knew he understood or he wouldn't have been so anxious. "No, John, no."

He held her eyes for a long moment, as always reading right through what she said. "Tell me the truth, Carter. Whatever trouble you're really in, I can help. You know that."

"Not with this, not this time." She moved toward the door, fearing her resolve would break with any more of his gentle pleading. "The only thing you can do is back off. Completely. No lurking in the shadows."

She would have expected that seeing his angry expression would help strengthen her, but she knew it was masking his pain, a hurt that she was willing to bet was as bad as hers, and so she only felt for him.

"You think I'm going to let you walk away? With everything you know?"

She sighed. He was trying everything he had; he was desperate. "What are you going to do? Kill me? I won't be any good to you in jail. You might as well accept it and let me have a chance to get out of this."

"Jos-"

"Stop. Just stop. Don't call me. Don't follow me. Don't come to my place." She pulled open the door, hating what she was doing more with every word, yet being more and more certain that it was right based on his reaction. She paused, her voice shaking when she continued. "Please do this for me."

Finally he nodded, if not agreeing, at least deciding not to argue with her anymore.

She swallowed hard, looking at the man she desperately hoped she'd have the occasion to run into again in the future. She tried to memorize everything about him in case she didn't.

She forced a smile. "Good luck, John. Take care of yourself, ok?"

He looked away, his voice and eyes dropping. "This isn't goodbye, Jos."

"It has to be."

She walked away before she lost her nerve, leaving him behind and hoping he realized how very serious she was.

#####

Three days. She suffered through three days of hell. Of thinking people were watching her, talking about her, going through her things. Three days of her partner being pissier than normal because, as he put it, John was giving his balls a good twist.

Perhaps the worst thing was how lonely she felt. She talked to Taylor on the phone, but she missed having him home in the evenings. She missed having John to talk to. Being unable to contact him or expect him to pop up in the backseat of her car made her want to cry, as did the memory of his face when she'd left him in the stairwell. She'd hurt him by lying to him and regardless of the fact that she was doing in for his own good, she hated the interim when he would have no idea why she'd suddenly decided to be so rotten.

There was more mental anguish in the form of uncertainty. Snow and company had yet to reappear and that only made her more nervous. They had a pattern with her, popping up several times in a short period and then disappearing for a while. She knew they were still there, still lurking around, still waiting for an opening.

What she didn't know - though should have expected given her previous dealings with the pair - was that if an opening failed to present itself in a short enough period of time, they would make one themselves.

It was Thursday evening, close enough that she could taste the weekend coming and was looking forward to having a few days off to relax. Working was stressful enough, the added dread of Snow and the loss of John made it damn near unbearable. She was going to take the cruiser home, the early darkness of fall still surprising her, but when she rounded the corner, she saw the pair of CIA agents leaning on the driver's door.

Carter spun on her heel and headed the other direction, deciding to walk instead. The darkness wasn't nearly as frightening as those bastards. She only made it two blocks before she noticed the fleet sedan tailing her. She would have liked to turn around and open fire on it, if only the damn thing wasn't bullet proof.

Instead, she walked halfway across the next street, stopped in the middle of the intersection and faced the truck. She could see Snow behind the wheel and she stared him down, ignoring the horns blowing from pissed off drivers. She just stood there, impervious to the angry shouts from the cars as they went around her. Finally, and only after quite a few insults to his heritage as well, Snow accelerated around her. Smiling with her tiny victory, she gave him the finger and continued on her way.

When she reached the corner, thinking she could get home in peace, she saw him. Doing exactly what she'd asked him not to. He was leaning against a building, arms crossed, looking on with a proud smirk. She knew exactly what he was thinking, that there had once been a day when she wouldn't have dared flip off the CIA.

Fighting her instinct to smile back at him, she forced a frown and quickened her pace.

Not only had he ignored her, not only had he refused to do something she asked him to do for her, but he also now knew what the whole thing was about. Which was truly unfortunate because it was doomed to backfire on John. The man was loyal and thus predictable. Snow had known that even if she didn't turn John in, John would turn up to protect her.

Damn it. She'd been right initially, she realized; the only way for this to end was with John in the ground.

She was sick to her stomach as she hurried home, wanting to be in the privacy of her own home when the tears started to fall.

And it was her hurry, her preoccupation, that allowed her to play right into their hands. She turned down her block, only a few doors down from her destination. The tears welling blinded her and she barely noticed the black van that skidded to a halt in front of her steps. She stopped next to it, fumbling in her bag for her keys.

She saw nothing else as the hood dropped over her head. Her body reacted instinctively, her arms reaching out to fight, a scream ripping from her throat. Her attackers were faster and better prepared, lifting her off her feet and shoving her roughly into the van in a matter of seconds.

The hood was disorienting, to say the least, not to mention how frightening the entire situation was. There were voices, unfamiliar ones, reporting her capture to someone she couldn't hear. She tried to bite back her fear, telling herself that odds were astronomically high that Snow was responsible for this new torture, that she was probably not actually in any danger. Though the break from terror that thought brought about was short lived, disappearing when she realized that John had seen the whole thing. John would be hot on their heels, throwing caution to the wind to rescue her, doing exactly what they knew he would, throwing his life away to save her from something that wasn't even real.

For a short while, as she was rolling around on the floor with her hands cuffed behind her back and unable to keep herself still in the speeding van, she pondered a host of other possibilities. She had quite a few angry ex-cons who wouldn't mind tossing her ass in the East River. There was always a chance it was one of them, in which case having John show up could be a good thing.

But as the time ticked by and no one took her gun from her hip, she knew the chance of that was diminishing.

When the van stopped, her heart started to race. Maybe it was someone who'd rotted in prison waiting for the opportunity to get even. Maybe it was Snow finally cracking from the frustration. Maybe she was just having the worst fucking day of her life. Whatever was going to happen… time was up. There were no sounds that gave her a clue where she was. Just gravel under her feet as she was dragged from the van. There was a hand on her arm guiding her, then another hand on her other arm. Then a voice, one of the ones from the van.

"You said a thousand, man!"

A gunshot, then something heavy falling into her leg. Someone running on the gravel and tires spinning as the van roared away.

She knew she was in real trouble. Whether it was Snow or someone else, she was fairly certain there was a dead body lying on her foot. Whoever had her, he was ruthless. Suddenly, Carter recalled the way she'd threatened Fusco, saying it was all their lives on the line. At the time she'd thought it was more likely John's life and their careers. Now, she wasn't so sure. Snow was liable to kill her just because he knew John cared about her. And then he'd kill John anyway.

She didn't resist as she was dragged forward, a creak of rusted hinges, then the gravel gave way to a cement floor. She'd only been so scared once in her life, the day she'd been shot in Iraq, when she'd expected a second shot or an IED would destroy the disabled Hum-V with her still in it.

Even her worry about John faded a bit, sheer terror filling her mind as she thought of all those Sundays she'd skipped church and wondered if Jesus still loved her like her childhood minister had promised her. She wanted to pray and swear that she'd go to church religiously and say her prayers every night, but the only thought she could summon was 'oh god oh god oh god.'

She wasn't even embarrassed by the silent tears that were flowing down her cheeks; there was no point in being embarrassed if she was about to die.

For a moment, as the handcuffs were unlocked, she thought maybe it was over, maybe someone had already come to save her. But that hope was dashed almost immediately. Her arms were jerked behind her, around a pillar of some kind, the handcuffs replaced with a zip tie, tightened mercilessly around her wrists. Her legs were kicked out from under her, leaving her arms to slide down the jagged surface of whatever she was fastened to, cutting her skin. She landed awkwardly with one knee twisted under her, her shoulders already complaining from the mistreatment.

As the footsteps receded, she wondered what the point had been. Were they just trying to scare her? Were they going to leave her for dead? Her head turned toward a sound she decided could only be scurrying rats, although she couldn't see a damn thing with the hood still over her head.

She didn't even know who to curse as she waited for something to happen. And then, the sound of a phone ringing, a clipped voice answering both the phone and her question.

"Snow." A pause. "Everything's in place. We've got him this time. I'll personally make sure he doesn't walk out of here." Then the whine of hinges and the banging metal of the door as he left.

It was then that she wished he had killed her. It would have been preferable to watching him murder John.


	4. Chapter 4

_AN: Planning to keep posting every night, but I'm in the mid-Atlantic about to get slammed by Sandy, so if the power/internet goes out, there might be a delay! Thanks for all the comments! They make my day!_

Part Four

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She knew it wouldn't take long. She'd learned long ago that the moments she dreaded facing the most were the quickest to arrive. With the hood on and her body twisted in an uncomfortable position, it was difficult to tell how much time had actually elapsed, but still, it seemed like it hadn't been nearly long enough before she heard more footsteps, quiet, quick ones approaching.

He pulled the hood off her, his hand moving to her cheek and turning her face towards his in an uncharacteristically affectionate way. He was shocked by her tears, obviously expecting her to act less like a damsel in distress. "Are you ok?"

She wanted to lean into his hand and let him know how much she appreciated his concern. She wanted to cry on his shoulder for a few minutes. She wanted him to get the fuck out of there before Snow shot him in the head.

Her eyes darted around. "Get out of here," she commanded in a quiet whisper. Snow would be listening, waiting to catch something on tape so he could fry her once he'd killed John. He struck her as the sore winner type.

"The correct answer is 'thanks for rescuing me again, John.'" He winked at her as he moved around to cut her hands free.

"No, John, he's not going to hurt me." Maybe he was, but that was beside the point. "It's a trap. He's here for you."

"I'm not leaving you, Carter." John looked over his shoulders. "I don't see anyone yet so how about we get out of here before he comes back?"

As soon as Carter got to her feet, John's hand folded around hers. She'd seen him with the other people he protected, she knew he had a penchant for maintaining physical contact with the female ones, but it didn't prevent her whole body from tingling. He led her to the closest door and checked out the scratched Plexiglas window.

He turned back to her with a shrug. "We should probably try another door." As he pulled her by the hand in the opposite direction, his other hand moved up to his ear piece. "Finch, we might need some help getting out of here."

After having the same results at the second and third doors and a large window, Carter felt the panic welling back up. "Am I Butch or Sundance?"

He smirked at her. "Don't give up yet, Carter."

"You still won't think it's time to give up after the bullet leaves the chamber, John," she hissed at him.

"What's the point?" He shrugged, continuing to drag her around the building, probably looking for a secret tunnel to Disneyworld. "When it's over, it's over, until then, it's not." He turned his head to the side, annoyance flickering over his face. "You too, Harold? I'm disappointed in your lack of faith." His words were punctuated by the sound of doors opening, all of them, simultaneously, loud footsteps pounding on the floor.

She felt his sudden tension through their joined hands as she realized he truly hadn't understood their predicament it until that minute.

But he didn't hesitate more than a second as he moved away from the sounds, into the stacks of abandoned crates and equipment, looking for somewhere to hide, as though that magical tunnel into a fairytale land might still be there somewhere. She could hear the movement of the men, a methodical sweeping of the building as they closed in.

She gripped his hand tighter and leaned in to whisper. "You should have listened to me. I told you to stay away. I tried to stop this." Tears were welling up again, and she hated the guilty look on John's face, as though he felt worse for making her cry than about his impending execution.

"I tried to listen, Carter, but we got information that you were in danger again. I was just doing my job."

The shuffling of boots was getting closer. She could make out whispers into their radios too. Squeezing her eyes closed, she wondered if she ought to hug him, to tell him how much his friendship had meant to her, to offer him the reassurance that his sacrifice, though unnecessary, would matter in the long run, but her fear that she was about to get killed too kept her frozen.

"Well, Harold, we knew it wouldn't last forever." His eyes turned to her and she saw firm resolve passing over his expression. "At least this way the rest of you are safe. It's the best I can do under the circumstances." He smiled at her for a moment. "Finch, you'll take care of Carter for me, right?" A pause. "Thank you." He pulled the ear wig from his ear and his phone from his pocket before he squatted down. His hand cupped the back of her heel. "May I?"

She lifted her foot and watched in utter confusion as he slipped her shoe off, using the pointed heel to smash through his phone almost silently. He offered her shoe back to her and shoved the broken phone underneath the rusted edge of a shelving unit.

While she was still trying to process both the current situation and the fact that suicidal John had just asked his boss to watch over her, something she'd thought John had stopped, he grabbed her shoulders and met her eyes. "Listen to me, Carter, they're not here to arrest me, we both know that. There's only one way I make it out of this building alive. I need your help."

Her mind reeled with the idea that there was any chance at all she wasn't about to watch John die and she nodded eagerly. Anything. Anything at all. When he reached for her hip, she realized he was going to use her gun to hold her hostage. Desperate. Doomed. They certainly had a sniper, even if they cared about her winding up dead, which she knew they didn't.

But rather than her gun, he pulled her handcuffs loose, placing them in her hand. "Arrest me."

She just stared at him, no longer even hearing the sounds of the men slowly but surely surrounding them, her head shaking side-to-side unconsciously.

"It's my only chance, Carter, you can argue that you've got jurisdiction, open warrants, and that you can't have a prisoner dying in your custody." He reached out to touch her face again, his warm palm sliding against her cheek, his thumb wiping at the tears she hadn't even realized were still falling. "It's the best chance I've got right now, and it'll help repair the damage I've done to your reputation at work. If you're the one that brings me in, IAB will stop asking if you're working with me." His eyes held hers. He meant it. He fucking meant it. He was truly worried about her professional reputation.

Her head continued to shake, refusing to listen. She couldn't do it. She couldn't arrest the man and pretend she wasn't working with him. She couldn't. She wouldn't be able to live with herself if she handed him over to the NYPD or the FBI or the CIA.

She swallowed hard and held his eyes. "I can't, John, please don't…"

"It's either you or Snow, and you know he'll put a bullet in my head." He stepped closer, his lighthearted smirk long gone, his dispassionate mask replaced by a look she could only describe as love, something she'd never expected to see from him, something she thought he was no longer capable of. She would have relished the opportunity to think on that, to figure out why the idea that he really cared for her made her want to smile happily despite the circumstances, but he didn't give her the chance. His other hand moved up, holding her face still as he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss against her lips. The timing couldn't possibly have been worse, and yet, his mouth lingered against hers, his tongue a whisper against her lip for a moment, telling her that it could have been, should have been different.

"Please, Jos."

She grabbed him as he pulled away, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him tight, reveling in the feeling of his arms closing around her. And then the sounds were closer still, the men finally in the room with them.

"Jos," he whispered into her hair.

She nodded against his shoulder, reluctantly pulling away and waiting for him to turn around so she could close the cuffs around his wrists. She held her gun in one hand and placed the other on his elbow. "I'll do everything I can, John, but-"

He smiled. "You probably shouldn't be crying when you turn me in." He nodded toward his jacket pocket. "Keys to the Lincoln. I wouldn't recommend asking Snow for a lift."

Before the men had a chance to complete their sweep and find their prey, Carter marched forward with John in tow. She opened her phone and called it in, reporting that she had an extremely dangerous prisoner in custody and that precautions should be taken. Faking a conviction she sure as hell didn't feel, she walked past the armed soldiers Snow had called in. The soldiers, who weren't nearly as dirty as the man giving the orders, backed off and let her leave the building.

Snow was waiting for her outside, he and his partner smiling happily at the sight of John in cuffs. "Nice try, detective, but he's ours." He reached out to take John's arm, but Carter was happy to engage in the pissing contest.

She jerked John back and chuckled. "Oh, I don't think so. I've been chasing this man for over a year. I've got open warrants on him and considering that we're on US soil, well, you'll have to discuss your case with the US Attorney." She moved toward the Lincoln, but paused and looked back. "And you might want a lawyer, because I'm reporting your ass for kidnapping a police officer."

Her tough as nails façade crumbled as soon as she drove out of sight of the warehouse, her instincts telling her to make a run for it, to do anything she could to help John escape. He was quiet, not even giving the impression that he'd be interested in trying.

He was still protecting her, she realized, still hoping that everyone would suddenly believe that she was on the up and up.

She caught his eyes in the mirror. "John, even if the DA can tie custody up in the courts for a day or two, you know Snow isn't going to play by the rules. He'll just cart you out of lock up without jurisdiction."

He smirked back at her and shrugged. "But I'm still breathing at the moment, so I think we did just fine."


	5. Chapter 5

_AN: posting early. hurricane is really hitting now, expecting power to go out soon!_

Part Five

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Two blocks away from the precinct, she noticed all the traffic, all the vans and trucks double-parked. News vans. Reporters. There were at least a hundred people with cameras and microphones crowding the steps that were being forcibly held partially open by uniforms in riot gear.

"Jesus Christ, what the hell-" She couldn't find anywhere to put the car, so she just threw it in park in the middle of the street.

"Finch must have figured out what we were doing when you called it in. This was his insurance policy that we both made it back to the station alive." He barely had a chance to finish speaking when cops descended on the car, throwing open the back door and dragging him out.

Carter jumped out, brandishing her weapon at cops and reporters alike. "Back off, everybody! He's mine, damn it!" She took hold of his arm again, wishing she could throw him back in the car and take off. Instead, the reporters realized who she was, who he was, and swarmed her, shouting questions about how she'd apprehended the terrorist alone.

She ignored them, forced back her desire to scream and cry at the injustice, and turned to one of the more gung-ho cops brandishing a shotgun. "This is his car. It's evidence. You and your men guard it. Don't let anyone touch it until I get the crime scene techs here, ok?" Not bothering to wait for his overzealous agreement, Carter continued on her way into the station with her prisoner in tow.

As opposed to the loud chaos surrounded the door, the interior of the 8th was silent. Everyone had stopped dead in their tracks to watch her and John. Her heart was racing as she stepped up to the desk, requesting the paperwork and an empty cell to hold her prisoner until she could complete it. She led him to the door, catching his eyes as he entered obediently.

Once the door was closed, she instructed him to turn around so she could remove the cuffs, but he leaned forward instead. "I left a knife and a grenade in the back seat of the car. Figured it was better there than bringing it in here."

"I said 'turn around.'" She faked irritation with him, feeling horrible when he complied, feeling even worse when he passed her a key as she removed the cuffs. It was a single key with no identifying marks, yet something he hadn't wanted catalogued as evidence with the rest of his things. He'd protected it. It had to be his. A key to his place, someplace he didn't want anyone to find. He was trusting her with it.

She would have been touched by it, except that under the circumstances, he didn't exactly have a lot of options.

She knew there wouldn't be another opportunity for them to talk, knew that although they'd managed to delay the inevitable by the skin of their teeth it was still going to happen. Snow was going to get there and take John away and she'd never have another moment with him to say anything.

So she said what she could silently, gently sliding her thumb across his palm before she withdrew the handcuffs.

There was nothing else she could do to put it off, so she went to her desk and fairly collapsed into her chair, wishing once again that Snow had just killed her instead of making her kill herself.

She was slowly completing the paperwork for the arrest, knowing the answers to a lot more questions than she was actually reporting, leaving out everything she'd gotten from his military file. The only things she filled in were his name and physical description, thinking back to before she'd started working with him and recalling all she'd had on him was that he was tall and wore a suit.

"Excuse me, ma'am?"

Annoyed, she looked up to find a wide-eyed rookie standing next to her desk, cell phone in hand. "I-uh- it's for you?" He cleared his throat. "You're Detective Carter, right?"

With Snow probably listening in on every line in the building, a fresh-from-the-academy kid was probably the safest way Finch had to reach her. She took the phone. "Yeah."

"A lawyer is on the way. Please make sure your prisoner doesn't disappear before he gets there." Finch hung up, his anger evident in his tone.

She wondered about his promise to look out for her that John had extorted. Of course, she couldn't blame Finch, she wasn't exactly happy with herself either.

#####

Finch was hardly the only person in the "disappointed with Jocelyn Carter" line. Womack had been on the phone since before she got to her desk and was glaring unhappily at her the whole time. Fusco, who'd gone home for the night, returned, claiming to some coworkers he'd forgotten to complete some paperwork for a court appearance, but Carter realized he was actually just there to glower at her from his desk.

The last straw was when her cell rang, her short lived smile seeing her son's number on the display fading the moment she answered it.

"What the hell is wrong with you, mom?" He paused to take a breath. "Tell me this is all a mistake, some secret undercover operation or something."

Hoping like hell it was something else, she tried to keep her misery out of her voice. "What are you talking about, T?"

"Mom, it's all over the news! All my friends are calling to congratulate me over my mom the hero who just fucking arrested the coolest guy I've ever met!"

She cleared her throat, needing a moment to force the lump out of her throat. "You don't understand," she whispered, a sob rising up. "I didn't have a choice."

"Don't talk to me. I may never speak to you again!"

Her son had never hung up on her and it would have broken her heart, if her heart hadn't already shattered into pieces. She excused herself to the restroom, locked herself in a stall and cried into her hands. She would have liked to slink out the door and hide, but she couldn't leave John. She had to keep him in NYPD custody as long as she could because the moment Snow took him, it was all over and she would deserve the way she felt.

She pulled herself together for John's sake, grabbed some paperwork from her desk, and returned to the cell. "Sergeant, I need to question the prisoner." She faked a casual glance at John, knowing he'd see the fear and concern written all over her. He was standing against the back wall, appearing unchanged since she'd left his side. It was a small miracle he hadn't fallen down a flight of stairs or hung himself with shoe laces he didn't have.

Logan, the half-senile, semi-retired sergeant who guarded the cells was usually amenable to anything anyone said. But he just chuckled at her and pointed at the men in suits standing along the wall.

They were CIA; it wouldn't take a rocket scientist to recognize that, even if they weren't wearing their suits and sunglasses and dour expressions. She met John's eyes for the briefest of moments before she turned back to Logan.

"Look, I already got a call from this guy's lawyer. If I don't talk to him now, I'm not going to get anything out of him."

One of the pricks stepped between her and Logan. "Mr. Reese is coming with us."

It took everything she had not to draw her weapon. "Hell no. You can have him after he serves a couple dozen life sentences right here." She glared at Logan. "If you open this cell, you can kiss your pension goodbye, got me?" She waited for the curt nod. "I'm going to talk to Womack and he's not going to be happy if you let our prisoner out of here."

Logan shook his head. "No, ma'am."

The CIA agent who hadn't spoken was on his phone, undoubtedly reporting the hold up.

She knew she was only buying time and that it was an argument she was doomed to lose, but remembering that the time she was buying was time John lived reminded her why she was doing it. Fueled with frantic worry that John's time was running out despite this desperate attempt, she stormed into Womack's office.

"I don't care if that's the fucking president of the United States on your phone, no one is taking that man out of our jurisdiction. There's a list of crimes with his name on them a mile long and I collared him. He's getting prosecuted and jailed in New York. If the FBI or CIA want him, they'll have to wait in line." She was hoping her excessiveness would help convince the bastard who was her boss.

Womack, as usual, was unimpressed. "Can you hold on a moment?" He shifted the receiver from his mouth and pressed the hold button his phone. "This is the police commissioner, questioning me about nominating you for a medal. Should I hang up?"

"No sir." Swallowing hard, Carter's stomach turned. A fucking medal. John was going to be dumped in a shallow ditch somewhere and she was going to get a damn promotion out of it. "There are men downstairs expecting to take the prisoner off our hands at any moment and I feel strongly that that son of a bitch should be tried for his crimes here. They couldn't catch him, so they should stand in line for a crack at him!"

Womack looked down, biting his lip and actually appearing to consider her words for the first time in the entire time she'd worked for him. Then he shook his head and reached for his phone, pausing just long enough to dismiss her. "Sorry, Carter, I already got calls from agencies I didn't even know existed. As soon as they've got a transport adequately prepared, your guy in a suit is someone else's problem." He picked up the phone. "Sorry to keep you holding, commissioner."

"A transport adequately prepared? What the hell, is he going to beam himself out of a damn truck?" She was the first to admit John was the closest thing she'd ever seen to an actual magician, but he wasn't able to walk through walls to her knowledge.

Womack laughed. "Seems they're not sure. Close the door on your way out." He smiled at her as she left and it disturbed her. Of course the worse thing she'd ever had to do was the one thing that earned her boss' respect.

Disappointed but undeterred, she returned to her desk and tore apart a drawer looking for a business card that represented her - and John's - last hope. She hadn't been sure why she kept the number at the time, but now she was glad it was there. She dialed the number and waited for the gruff answer.

"Donnelly."

"It's Jos Carter, NYPD. I'm going to give you a one-time offer and you either take it or leave it right now."

"Carter? Ok, yeah, what do you have for me?" The man sounded confused, like he didn't have a clue who she was.

"John Reese. I have him in custody and I'll give him to you if you make me a promise."

"Who the hell is John Reese?"

It took her a moment to recall that Donnelly, like so many others, only knew John by the name she'd given him - the man in the suit. "My guy in a suit, Donnelly. His name is Reese and I've got him."

"Are you fucking kidding me? I'll be right there." There was movement, his voice fading as he pulled the phone from his ear.

"Wait!" She was going out on a limb here, but it was all she had left. Womack was no use at all, Finch would be helpless, and Snow was chomping at the bit. "The CIA is here and they want him. They've already got the NYPD's permission to take him. If I give him to you, you have to promise me those bastards don't get their hands on him." She didn't care how obvious she was being to everyone within earshot.

"Hell no, we're trying to nail those fuckers. I'll get somebody over there immediately to stop anything they've got in place. Give me a few minutes."

Carter was rather proud when phones started ringing a minute later while Donnelly pulled every string he had to win the argument legally. And while Donnelly had enough resources to drag the fight out for several hours until just past two in the morning, she still had to face the inevitable moment when the determined FBI agent and all six lawyers he'd dragged into it collectively threw up their hands. John would be escorted by the CIA to a federal court where a judge would officially turn him over to them. Although they were welcome to continue to dispute it, the lawyers didn't look like they were holding out much hope.

The lawyer Finch had sent, the man who'd done pretty much nothing as far as Carter could tell, was on his phone, probably instructing his secretary to send Finch a bill.

Donnelly's fight had given her time to make an important decision, one that John, had he known, would have been quite disappointed with. But, she rationalized, John would be dead before anyone ever found out, so it really didn't make any fucking difference to her in the long run.


	6. Chapter 6

_AN: We lost power for about 9 hours, but other than that, we sustained no damage. Scary still! Thanks for the well wishes! Shift will be 10 parts total._

Part Six

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She waited through the night, keeping watch over the activities of the CIA agents, making sure that John wouldn't disappear before they could even pretend to be taking him to a courtroom. It was quarter after seven when a group of men in black fatigues were given entrance to John's cell. Carter stayed and watched, hating it and feeling sick, yet deciding she had to bear witness to the injustice playing out before her. He'd already been forced to change into a bright orange jumpsuit during the night. She watched as they wrapped the chain around his waist and fastened his wrists to it before moving on to the leg irons. In addition to those normal precautions taken when moving any prisoner, they added additional restraints above his knees and around his chest and upper arms as well.

She didn't even bother trying to hide the tears from John in those last seconds, when she saw them produce a black cloth hood much like if not the very one she'd been forced into the evening before. His eyes moved to hers, his face a complete blank except for his eyes, which thanked her for everything she'd done to postpone that moment.

When the hood dropped over his face, she felt as though they'd dropped it over hers as well.

They began to lead him out of the cell, eight men with rifles surrounding the four men guiding him. He could barely move his legs and stumbled with all the restraints and loss of sensory input.

That was all she could take. That was all she figured anyone could expect from her.

She tore past the men who seemed to think they were preparing for war, past the glaring FBI lawyers and gloating CIA agents, past the cops who were still staring like it was the most fascinating thing that had ever happened.

She tripped down the front stairs and weaved through the crowd of reporters still waiting outside for information on this terrorist who'd been caught. She saw the large black truck stopped in the street, knowing it was there for John. The guilt was choking her and she hurried her pace. She was half running when a car jumped onto the sidewalk in front of her, so unexpectedly that she ran into it. Staggering backward, she couldn't even fathom what to do, couldn't form a coherent thought like 'go around.'

The darkened window rolled down as she stared stupidly, Finch's nervous face coming into view. "Get in, detective."

She didn't even know what she was doing when she pulled the door open and fell into the passenger seat. "I couldn't stop them. I did everything I could," she sobbed. Had she been able to breathe, she might have thought better than revealing her weakness and guilt to Finch.

Rather than the condescending disapproval Finch mostly had when he talked to her, Finch nodded, his voice lacking even a hint of reproach. "Yes, I'm aware. There was nothing more you could have done." He looked over his shoulder and backed the car into the street before putting it in drive and speeding away from the 8th. "Although I'm not sure Mr. Reese will agree, I can see why you wouldn't want to return here in the morning."

She blinked at him, confused for a moment, having herself already forgotten about the resignation she'd emailed to Fusco while Donnelly had been trying to gain access to John. Her badge and gun had been abandoned in her desk drawer. After what she'd been forced to do under the guise of police work, she wanted nothing at all to do with the NYPD. She hadn't put any thought into what she would do, but she knew she was done with all of them.

Finally words formed that she spat at Finch. "John's probably going to be dead before he gets to the courthouse. He's never going to know." She'd always taken Finch for a smart man, so she didn't understand how he could remain so calm when his best, and likely only, friend's life was swiftly coming to an end.

"There are far too many reporters, police, and FBI watching. John will make it to the courthouse and be remanded to the custody of the CIA, I'm certain."

Wiping at her tears, she shifted to stare at Finch. "Well that makes all the difference."

"It does." He pursed his lips and checked the rearview mirror anxiously before making a sudden turn. "I don't think we're being followed, but it's best to be careful."

"Why would anyone follow us? They've got John, that's what they wanted." And she'd handed him to them. She was just waiting for Finch to throw it in her face so she could wallow in her guilt some more.

"John is not the only one with enemies."

She snarled, thinking about the ass-kicking that little bitch Root would get if she dared rear her head. Thinking of kicking someone's ass made her feel a bit better. In fact… She turned back to Finch. "You must know where John keeps his weapons. I need to know. I'm going after him."

"That would be a suicide mission, detective."

She didn't give a shit if it was a suicide mission. John deserved for her to try. "I'm not asking for your help. I just need to know where he hides his weapons. The big stuff, like the guns he loaned me."

"Mr. Reese hides those sorts of things all over the place." He flashed a grin. "He's rather like a squirrel in that regard, always preparing for winter." When he glanced and noticed Carter's glare he shook his head. "I promised him that I would look after you. I'm afraid that rules out my assisting you on any suicide missions."

Grabbing his collar sent the car weaving into oncoming traffic, but she didn't care. "John doesn't have a lot of time left. Is keeping your promise worth sacrificing his life?"

"I have to believe that he would think so. I gave him my word and I intend to keep it." Finch nodded as though he was trying to convince himself.

"Stop the car. I'm getting out."

Finch ignored her request, if anything, he sped up.

"I said stop the damn car. I have to do something. I can't just sit here!"

"I'm afraid I can't let you out. Mr. Reese will be extremely disappointed in me if I allow you to do something rash."

"Rash? Mr. Reese is going to be dead, so why don't you worry about what I'm going to do to you if you don't stop the god damned car this instant?" She wouldn't have any qualms with grabbing the wheel and crashing if it was her only option. She never should have gotten in with him. It seemed every decision she made was just making things worse.

Which was really saying a lot considering the situation she was already in.

Finch's phone rang while she was still contemplating forcing the car off the road. He glanced at it. "Oh, thank god." He cast a sidelong look at Carter. "Not that this conversation isn't stimulating." He put in the ear piece. "Yes?" His brow furrowed as he listened. "That's good to hear. Thank you for letting me know."

Carter glared at the treacherous bastard who was going on with business as usual while her world was falling apart and John's life was on the line.

Finch caught her expression and regarded her with his typical disdain. "It seems the federal judge wasn't as easily persuaded by the CIA's strong-arming techniques as they expected. The judge has decided to hear further arguments from all sides on Monday. Until then, he's declared Mr. Reese will remain under FBI supervision in an NYPD facility."

She simply stared, unable to comprehend any news that wasn't horrific.

After a moment, the older man continued. "We now have a few days to consider our options without needing to resort to desperate maneuvers."

It wasn't necessarily good news, Carter realized, since it was only postponing the inevitable. Still, maybe it was good since that meant John had a few more days to live. Perhaps Finch could be convinced to intercede by then. And suddenly, looking at Finch's calm demeanor, she began to wonder. "You don't seem surprised."

"I'm not." He shrugged after a moment. "I had hoped the judge would be reasonable and it appears that he was."

"Hoped?" She knew now that Finch had gotten her into the car and deliberately refused to let her out until he'd received confirmation that things had gone his way. Not only had he expected the news, he also expected he'd have to answer to John for anything that happened to her.

Finally, he cracked a smile. "I've also found that there are ways to encourage anyone to be reasonable."

A laugh bubbled out of her mouth. "You bribed a judge? Why am I even surprised at you anymore?"

"Hardly. I simply gave him an incentive to make sure the wheels of justice continued to turn at their usual snail's pace despite the CIA's desire for them to speed up." Finch pulled the car into a parking space and slipped it into park.

She hadn't even noticed until the car stopped, but he'd driven her to her door. "I probably shouldn't even ask, but before I work on one, do you have a plan here? Are you going to bust him out over the weekend?"

Finch smirked, an expression she was certain he'd never attempted until he'd met John. "I assure you I have no intention of breaking Mr. Reese out of jail this weekend."

She was reaching for the door when he extended his hand, offering her a business card that was blank except for a phone number. Staring at it, rather than accepting it, she paused.

"In case you need to reach me."

She dragged her eyes from the card to Finch. "You expect me to call you?"

"I did promise Mr. Reese that I would take care of you for him."

Rolling her eyes, she took the card and didn't look back. She didn't expect to call him. Ever. She only took the card for John, because he would want her to have someone to call in an emergency, because he would expect Finch to give her a way to contact him.

#####

The apartment was eerily silent. Taylor was in school and wasn't speaking to her anyway, even if he hadn't been staying with his grandmother. There had always been the occasional night she'd worked through, resulting in having the following weekday off. In fact, one of those nights had been how she'd met John in the first place - she'd been walking past the desk after a night of chasing down bullshit leads when one of the uniforms had grabbed her and asked if she'd might helping out with an open-and-shut assault case.

Usually on those days, she'd curl up in bed and take a nap to catch up on some of the sleep she'd missed. Then she'd wind up doing laundry or mopping the kitchen floor or something that really could wait.

And though she was beyond exhausted from the stress and lack of sleep, there was no chance in hell that she'd be able to get any rest.

And even less of a chance that John would call with some impossible situation and an irresistible invitation to get into all sorts of trouble with him.

Her phone rang while she was staring at it, willing it to ring and she jumped, wondering if she'd somehow dreamt the entire fiasco up. But it was Fusco's number of the caller id, telling her that he'd arrived at the office and received her resignation and was trying to figure out if she actually intended for him to turn it in or if she was just working something off the books and needed him to buy her some time.

She ignored the call. Though she was perfectly serious about having ended her career with the NYPD, she felt no desire to discuss it. Fusco would figure something out on his own until she had the energy to call him back. Sad, really, that her so recently found friendship with the man had to end so swiftly, but she didn't imagine they had much to discuss outside of work and John. Two things they no longer had in common.

When the phone pinged with his message, she played it. It wasn't like she had anything better to do.

"What the hell, Carter? First you tell me to call him then you tell me not to, then you tell me you'll kill me if he gets hurt, then you arrest him and now you quit. I've heard of mood swings, but this is ridiculous. Call me when you get off whatever drugs you're on." His perpetually pissed off tone actually brought a smile to her face until she remembered what was happening.

She sat on the couch and tossed her blazer on the coffee table, the unexpected clunk reminding her of the key John had passed to her. She fished it out of the pocket and inspected it. She'd already determined it was personal, but she found herself wondering if it meant something. Maybe there were weapons there she could use to break him out. Maybe there was some sort of information she could use to blackmail Snow into freeing John. Maybe he wanted her to feed the damn dog until he got back. Knowing John, it could well be that he'd anticipated Finch's refusal to help her and had meant for her to use whatever she found to save him.

Tracing down the lock in which a key worked was hard enough. She doubted it was even possible without the resources of the police department. If only she'd thought of that before she'd quit. Finch might know, but he probably wouldn't be willing to share the information with her.

Or, she decided, it might just be a key to John's place and, on the off chance that he survived this ordeal, he didn't want anyone knowing where he lived. Probably not even her.

She had to go with her instincts, which said it was that latter, and dropped the key onto the table.

With that decision made, she had to face the quiet. Had it been a week earlier, she would have called Taylor's school, sworn it was a family emergency, and had them send her son home to help her figure something out. Unfortunately, her son was too angry to speak to her and there was no point in dragging him out of school to have him refuse to talk or to contemplate an unsolvable problem.

Her own pathetic efforts to think of something ended in a pattern: she'd doze off, jerk awake, pray it had all been a nightmare, realize it hadn't been, then return to coming up with a plan. She had no idea how many times the cycle repeated itself before the front door slammed and woke her again. For a brief, happy moment, she let herself believe that it was John, there to yell at her for falling asleep while he was busy escaping.

Instead, it was a glaring Taylor who'd purposely woken her. Still, she was so happy to see a welcome face, even if it wasn't particularly welcoming, an ally. She smiled, tears of relief coming to her eyes. She felt alone; having Taylor home would be a comfort.

"I'm glad you're back, T."

"I'm not back. Just getting some stuff for the weekend." He stomped toward his room.

Carter followed him, leaning in the doorway as he picked through his desk drawers for items he shoved in his backpack. He wasn't about to bend, so she did. "It's not as simple as it looks. John was in danger. Arresting him was the safest option. He asked me to do it."

Taylor stopped what he was doing and faced her unimpressed. "He asked you to? Yeah, right, whatever, mom."

"Taylor, what you know about John-"

"He's not a terrorist. I don't care what they said on the news. I'll never believe that about him." His jaw was clenched, his eyes blinking as he tried to fight back tears. "He can't be. I mean, he was a friend. I liked-"

She held her arms open, waiting for Taylor to cross the distance between them before she folded the boy who was taller than she into a fierce hug, rocking him back and forth like he was a baby. "No, Taylor, he's not. None of what they said was true. John is a good man, a good friend. You can always trust anything he tells you." She pushed away to catch his eyes. "And I swear to you, I'm going to do everything in my power to get him back, to make this right."

Taylor looked at her with red rimmed eyes. "How can you make it right?"

She shook her head, in answer to his question and in a failed attempt to ward off her own tears. "I don't know, but Finch and I will get him back."

"He means a lot to you, doesn't he?"

"More than I even realized."


	7. Chapter 7

Part Seven

#####

The evening passed in a fog as Carter tried to go through the motions of making dinner and doing some laundry and listening with half an ear to Taylor, who'd decided to come home from his grandmother's after all, discuss his plans for the weekend. She wanted to snap out of it and listen, if only to convince him that she really did believe she'd get John back somehow.

Unfortunately, storming a prison and stealing a prisoner in federal custody was John's area of expertise. She'd always been the brains, the talker, the one who could convince a suspect to offer up every piece of information he had. John was the brawn, able to exert his will on everyone without even needing to speak. There was no chance in hell that she would be able to put together any kind of assault to free John, not with Finch and Fusco as her only backup. She wondered if John was allowed a phone call; if only he could plan it out and tell her what to do.

As she lay in bed, she stared at the ceiling, wishing there was a chance for John to pick the lock and sneak in on her again. Instead, she knew she'd stay there all night, thinking about John and if he was lying on an uncomfortable cot in an uncomfortable cell, staring at the ceiling and hoping someone was coming for him.

At some point she realized he wouldn't be hoping that. He wouldn't expect anyone to come for him. He'd asked Finch to watch out for her. He'd said the best he could do was to go down alone, protecting his friends by pretending he had none. Part of her suspected that he truly believed it, that he thought he was on his own with no expectation of loyalty.

The dark sky started to lighten in the pre-dawn hours and she rolled onto her side to watch as another new day started. Another new day in this new life without John. As complicated as they had been, she much preferred the earlier days, when it was rare to go more than a day without hearing from him.

Her thoughts kept returning to their frantic time in the warehouse, her mind searching for some sign, some hint, some something that she'd missed that would have offered them an escape from this new hell.

And somehow, in all the upset and fear and pain and loneliness, she'd almost forgotten.

Her heart skipped a beat when she suddenly remembered that one beautiful moment in the whole fucking nightmare. How had she forgotten the sweet, hesitant way his mouth had captured hers? The horrific situation had distracted her, the adrenaline rush had sustained her, her fight to protect John had pushed everything else to the back of her mind. Now that she had the quiet time to remember it, she wondered how she'd managed to function, to even think about anything besides that kiss.

It had been totally innocent, gentle and sweet and chaste.

And somehow, hotter than any other she'd ever had.

Though the circumstances had been horrible, she knew she would cherish that memory. She'd cared about John for a long time. She'd worried about him and helped him and protected him. She'd called him a friend. But the moment he'd taken her hand in that warehouse, the moment he'd looked into her eyes, the moment he'd touched her face, the moment he'd kissed her - those had brought the truth to the surface.

Perhaps that was part of why she'd been so frantic in her attempts to save him. Because she'd just realized that there was something so much more than she'd ever expected between them and she was being robbed of it. It was being stolen from them before they had a chance to explore it. She'd had so much loss and sadness in her life; she deserved something good. She knew John did too.

She recalled the way she'd hugged him afterwards, the way he'd held her. If - no, she corrected - when she got him back, she was going to hug him so hard and so long he'd have to beg for mercy. And then she was going to kiss him. Maybe forever.

Unconcerned with the early hour, Carter got up and headed for the living room. Finch's card was lying on the coffee table where she'd left it. She snorted when she thought about how convinced she'd been that she wouldn't use it. Less than twenty-four hours later found her pressing the digits into her phone.

He answered on the first ring. "Detective, I didn't expect to hear from you so soon."

"I need to talk to you. Where do you want to meet?"

He gave her an address for a coffee shop. "I'd tell you to make sure you're not followed, but Mr. Reese was always impressed with your abilities so I'll give you the benefit of the doubt in that regard."

"And yet you felt the need to mention it." She might not like the man, but John did. And she'd certainly need his help to get John back. "I'll be there in a half hour."

#####

When Carter arrived at the small coffee shop, Finch was on the phone. He had a laptop open in front of him, a small pile of papers on the table, and a phone to his ear. He saw her and held up a finger to indicate that she should wait. She bought herself a coffee and dumped way too much sugar in it while she waited.

He finally put the phone down and offered his version of a smile. "I'm so glad you called." He pulled a photograph from among the papers. "This is Lindsay Norton, a twenty-seven year old part time home health aide. I need you to follow her, find out who might want to kill her," he paused and shook the photo that she hadn't accepted, then continued. "Or who might be her target, and stop whatever is about to happen."

She stared alternately at the picture of a perfect normal looking woman and Finch. "You what?"

"I'm afraid Mr. Reese is not available. You've resigned from the NYPD and therefore have some free time." He suddenly broke into a smile. "You'll be compensated, of course, much more fairly than as a city employee, I might add."

Choking on her coffee, she narrowed her eyes. "You're hiring me?" And then the concept sank in and she raised her voice. "To replace John?"

Finch was indifferent to the loud, angry tone. "I understand that this is hardly an ideal situation. Mr. Reese would be nearly impossible to replace with his skill set. While you wouldn't necessarily be my first choice, you do know what it is we do and are currently unemployed."

She grabbed the picture simply to stop him from holding it out to her, slapping it down on his papers. "I'm not here for a career change. I'm here because I want to get John back." She sat back and folded her arms across her chest. "It seems to me that you and Ms. Norton would benefit from making that happen."

"Believe me," he said as he smiled uncomfortably. "No one would benefit from Mr. Reese's return more than I."

"Not true."

"Detective-"

"I quit, you'll have to come up with something else to call me." When Finch's eyes moved to his laptop, she reached over and closed the top. "When you were missing, John didn't run out and look for someone to replace you. No, he raced around trying to find you and dragged my ass all the way to Texas to help him."

Annoyance flickered across his face. "I assure you, your involvement with the case was not a matter of finding me."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Mr. Reese has been determined to include you in our work for some time. Though perhaps my absence encouraged him to be slightly more direct."

She tried to process what Finch was telling her, but it didn't compute. If she'd only become aware of John's possible feelings for her when he kissed her, how could Finch already know? For a moment, she considered the idea of John and Finch sitting down and discussing what he should do about pursuing her. It almost made her laugh.

She shook her head and decided any relationship that she may or may not develop with John was not up for discussion with Finch. "I'm not interested in a job. I'm interested in helping John get free and you're going to help me."

Finch's phone buzzed and he answered it, completely ignoring Carter. "Yes…very good…Monday…payment upon confirmation…thank you." He set the phone down and smiled. "I'm sorry, what were you were saying?"

"John called you a friend. Is he just an employee to you?"

Lifting his briefcase to his lap, Finch placed his computer in it as well as some of the papers. Then he looked back at her. "I made a promise to Mr. Reese that I intend to keep regarding your safety. Any misguided attempt on your part to rescue him will most certainly result in his being rather disappointed in me." He pushed the papers toward her, the photograph on top. "On the other hand, Mr. Reese would be very happy to hear that you were lending me a hand in maintaining the work he's devoted himself to, the very work that has resulted in his incarceration."

She wanted to claim that Finch was just protecting himself, but she knew he was telling the truth. John was trying to redeem himself for something, real or imagined, and protecting these people was important enough for him to risk his life day after day. Whatever Finch's faults were, John liked him. John trusted him. John would expect her to help him. Sighing, she glanced at the picture again. "How long before whatever it is happens?"

Finch shrugged. "Sometimes a few days, sometimes a few hours."

"Great." She was doing it for John, she reminded herself. Anything for John. "And then we'll work on helping John, right?"

"Believe me, I'm doing everything I can." He stood up and dropped a set of keys on the stack. "I realize you don't have access to your police vehicle anymore. My car is around the corner. Everything else you'll need is in there, including a credit card for any expenses you might incur. I'll be in touch." Pausing after a few steps he looked back. "Do be careful, I believe Mr. Reese would be rather angry with me if you are injured in any way, Ms. Carter."

She glared at him and muttered, "I think I preferred Detective."

#####

She didn't even know why she was doing it. Maybe because she wanted to impress John when he came back. Maybe because she knew Finch had enough dirt on her to get her locked up along with John. Maybe because otherwise she was facing a day of sitting in her apartment, staring at the walls, and thinking about the horrible situation.

Instead she was sitting in the leather seat of a fully loaded luxury car watching a woman chasing her two toddlers around a playground. On the passenger seat, she'd found binoculars and a fancy camera with a zoom lens so strong she could read Norton's book over the woman's shoulder if she was so inclined. She was putting off calling Fusco to ask him to run down any information he could get on the woman. In fact, she was kind of hoping she could talk Finch into calling her ex-partner. She wasn't in the mood to talk to him; she wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone.

Perhaps filling in for John was a good thing then. She could sit alone in a car and not have to deal with anyone.

Her phone chirped at her. She'd only had it for a few days and hadn't bothered to do anything with it besides make phone calls. It was disposable, after all, so there was little point in personalizing it. Despite her lack of attention to it, an app had appeared on the home screen. A moment later, a message from Finch popped up, instructing her to get within a few feet of Norton's phone before opening the app he'd installed. Wondering what the hell it would do and knowing she wouldn't like it, she replied back with _so when do I get my fancy little ear piece?_ Finch didn't answer.

When the kids were done playing, Carter followed Norton into a market, getting behind her in line and pressing the button on her phone. That she was dismayed was an understatement as the phone display revealed that she'd just tapped into Norton's phone. For a moment, she thought about how much trouble she'd get in without having a warrant, but that only lasted until she remembered she wasn't a cop anymore. Of course, wiretap was hardly legal for private citizens.

And then the realization that John and Finch had certainly used the same method of spying on her in the past nearly made her homicidal. John was paying for his sins, but when her phone buzzed with Finch's number, she remembered hating the man.

"Did you use this on my phone? Did you spy on me?"

"It was only to prevent your murder, Ms. Carter." His voice revealed no hint of deception, but she was willing to bet Finch was as good a liar as John was.

"You and I need to talk about boundaries," she hissed, hurrying though the purchase of a pack of gum so she could follow Norton out of the store. "And it's Carter. Or Jos. Quit it with the Ms. already, I'm nobody's grandma."

After spending the entire day watching Norton run errands and listening to a Spongebob marathon, Carter found herself wondering how the hell John did it. The most interesting thing that happened was when one of her clients called to report that he was out of his medicine, something Norton promised to remedy first thing Monday morning when she came by. No wonder he was always ready to take on twenty armed men. Anything to break up the monotony of standing by while someone else lived their life.

Norton had finished the dishes and was corralling her kids into the tub when Finch sent her a message. "Probably safe to leave her for the night," it read.

Irritated that she'd wasted an entire day on nothing while John remained locked up, she started the car and headed home.


	8. Chapter 8

Part Eight

#####

She awoke on Sunday morning with one thought in her head. Church. She hadn't bothered in years and wasn't even sure she believed in anything anymore, but she remembered all too clearly what had crossed her mind when she'd been afraid for her life. If there was a god and he really did love her like the pastor said, then she figured she should make an effort.

If for no other reason than to have a good opportunity to ask him for another favor. A big one.

Taylor's face was less than pleased when she announced they were going to church. And when he complained that they hadn't gone in years, Carter only needed to point out that they were going to need a lot of help to get John back to get Taylor to agree. Her son questioned her again when she led him to the Lincoln, rather than the NYPD cruiser she'd been driving forever. Rather than reveal her choice to quit, she told him it was a long story, one that she decided she'd tell him after she found out if it had a happy ending.

After church, which she had to admit made her feel a bit better, maybe because she could almost convince herself "someone" else would be looking out for John, she dropped Taylor off at a friend's and returned to Norton's place. Norton was already on the phone when Carter activated the program, listening as Mr. Mitchell, the same client from the night before, yelled about needing his medicine. Carter could hear the woman's frustration as she tried to calm him down, while also gently reminding him that she'd just brought him all his prescriptions the week before. When the Mitchell's anger gave way to frustrated tears, Norton broke down, promising she'd be right there.

Carter felt bad as Norton begged her neighbor to watch the kids for a few hours while she ran to work. She tailed Norton to the pharmacy, listening in as she fought with the pharmacist about early refills. Empty handed, Norton went to her client's house, trying to explain the situation and offering to help him locate the missing pills. The pair scoured the house, Norton eventually accepting that the pills really were gone.

And that was when Carter realized Finch might be onto something with this woman, begrudgingly accepting that Finch and John were usually right about the people they watched.

Norton was questioning Mitchell about what could have happened to his pain medicine, pointedly asking if Mitchell's son had been by for a visit. Mitchell scoffed at the suggestion, but eventually admitted that his son had been there and that the pills had been there prior to the visit. Norton said she was going to contact the police if Mitchell didn't confront his son.

From her vantage point across the street, Carter watched as Mitchell reached for his phone. She texted Finch and asked if he could get ears on the conversation. Norton was sitting in her car, on the phone to Mitchell's doctor, begging for a medication refill until she could contact the police. With Finch reported that he could only listen in if she had placed a bug in the house. He did, however, agree to see what information he could find on this precious son who seemed to be the source of the trouble.

She sighed and darted across the street, hoping like hell none of the neighbors saw her lurking in the bushes as she tried to get close enough to the window to overhear the conversation Mitchell was having. As luck would have it, the man was hard of hearing and thus spoke louder than needed. Most of his words were muffled, but Carter got the gist of it. Rather than the police, Mitchell had called his son to complain about his missing pills.

Norton climbed out of her car, forcing Carter to duck down further to avoid being seen, scratching herself across the cheek on a branch. She cursed under her breath and acknowledged that perhaps there was some merit in bugging everyone rather than lurking around bushes. As soon as Norton went back inside, Carter returned to the car and listened in as Norton reported that the doctor would order additional medicine for a few days, but that he would require a police report before he did it again. Mitchell understandably bristled at the suggestion of reporting his son, but by the time Norton left to go to the pharmacy, he'd agreed there was no other option.

Carter waited in the car outside the pharmacy for Norton. Her phone rang and she picked it up, hoping Finch was calling with something more important to her than Norton and her clients.

"I found some information on Nick Mitchell. Forty-nine, divorced twice, about fifteen years in arrears on child support, has been unemployed for several years now. He's had a few run-ins with the law."

"Let me guess - pops for drugs, DUIs, petty theft, maybe armed robbery?"

She could hear the smile in Finch's reply. "Yes, exactly. How did you-"

"I've seen it before. People with lifelong drug problems that never get clean and specialize in making their family's life worse." She pulled to a stop half a block away from the Mitchell residence, watching as Norton climbed out of the car once again, this time with the prescription in her hand.

Movement from across the street caught Carter's attention. A thick figure, dark coat, hood obscuring his face, a flash of metal in his hand.

"Call the police, Finch, I think he's trying to graduate to murder." She was out of the car and running at full speed, only realizing halfway to Mitchell's door that she had no gun or shield or handcuffs. Shit.

As the younger Mitchell burst through his father's door, brandishing a gun and yelling about getting rid of the bitch who was trying to turn him in, Carter slowed her pace a bit. Without a weapon - or any hope of the police arriving in time - she only had the element of surprise. As she snuck in during the confusion, she looked for something in the house she could use as a weapon. The senior Mitchell and Norton were both screaming, Norton trying to protect her client without realizing that she was the intended target.

Nick was ranting, his greasy hair unkempt, his clothes filthy. Carter knew he was high and therefore capable of anything. Besides an umbrella and a pair of old running shoes, however, she wasn't having much luck finding anything of value in the hall. She eased open a closet, hitting pay dirt when her hand closed around a baseball bat.

It wasn't as useful as a gun, but it would have to do. Coupled with surprise, she might actually get the upper hand. She gripped the bat and moved forward as quietly as she could. Nick was holding the gun on Norton, who was crying, swearing that she wouldn't call the cops and that she would get him help and that everything would be just fine. Her eyes locked on Carter when she tiptoed around the corner. Carter put a finger to her lips, hoping that Norton wasn't too scared to obey the silent command.

Nick caught on before Norton could turn her eyes back, his body spinning around and his weapon aiming at Carter.

So much for the element of surprise. She swung the bat at his arm first, making contact and sending the gun flying. She swung again, trying to knock Nick's legs out from under him. He dove for the gun at the same time, but luckily Norton had snapped out of her stupor and managed to grab it first. She pointed it at Nick, demanding that he not move.

There were sirens coming closer, turning onto their street. Carter wrapped the hem of her shirt around the bat, wiping away her prints. She smiled at Norton. "The cops will be right here, you've got this under control." She waited for Norton to nod. "I was never here, ok?" Norton nodded again. Carter hurried back the way she'd come, pausing to wipe her fingerprints off the door knob on the closet. Racing into the back yard, she hopped the fence and hid behind the neighbor's trash cans while the officers raced inside.

She was smiling to herself as she made her way around the far side of the neighboring house, realizing for the first time what a tremendous rush it was to play Robinhood, of a sort at least. No wonder John put up with Finch. Doing that sort of thing and saving someone's life and knowing there was no paperwork involved was damn near enough to make her put up with Finch.

Her phone, which she'd dropped on the seat of the car when she'd gone running, was still open. She picked it up, watching as Nick Mitchell was lead to the back of a police car in cuffs. "One degenerate junkie is headed to jail. And two innocent people are safe. Mission accomplished."

"Good work," he paused awkwardly as he searched for something to call her. He opted for nothing in the end.

"So, I helped you. Now, John."

"My opinion on having the man disappointed in me hasn't changed. Go home. I'll let you know when we have a new nu-client."

She wondered what he'd been about to say. She wondered if he'd ever slip further and give her any real information about his operation. Though she was perpetually curious, she knew pressing Finch wouldn't get her anywhere, at least not on that matter, but that was something she could work on in the future. John's situation, on the other hand, needed to be resolved before it resolved itself in a way none of them would like.

"No, Finch, I want to talk about it now."

He let out a breath. "You wanted to know if I had a plan. I do. I'm afraid you'll simply have to wait and see how it goes."

Excitement and hope and worry and fear all crowded into her veins. "I want to help."

"I'm afraid that's not possible, and even if it were, I would not allow it. I made a promise, you remember."

Carter wished he were there so she could glare at him. "I don't need to be protected. I'm perfectly capable of making my own decisions and accepting the consequences."

"I have no doubt that you are self-sufficient. To be perfectly honest, I've argued the same point more than once with Mr. Reese. He's quite unreasonable on the subject."

She filed that away for later consideration. "Look, we both know I can help. I took care of this mess this afternoon, didn't I? And hell, no one got shot. No one's even bleeding. I can take care of myself."

"I am aware of that, but I gave my word-"

"Now who's being unreasonable?"

"If it makes you feel better, I promise I'll try not to enter into such agreements in the future."

"I can deal with John being protective. He legitimately has more skills than I do, so it makes sense. You, however, no, that's just different and wrong too." Not to mention that it was entirely endearing and sexy as hell when John protected her. She doubted Finch would appreciate hearing that.

"Yes, I can understand that. Mr. Reese puts a lot of stock in a man's - or woman's - word and prides himself on keeping his. I have given him mine, so my answer is not going to change." He paused for a moment. "Perhaps you should discuss the subject with Mr. Reese so that we might avoid ever having this conversation again."

"Fill me in on your little plan and I'll tell him now."

Rather than reply, Finch hung up and Carter hurled her phone across the car in frustration. Dammit. If there was a plan to rescue John, she wanted to be involved. Not just to soothe her guilty conscience, but so that he knew how much the whole thing had hurt her. She wanted him to know how much he meant to her, how far she was willing to go to get him back, how convinced she now was of feelings she hadn't even realized existed before he'd kissed her.

Feelings she suspected he'd had, and known about, for some time now.

She wanted to make up for that lost time. But it didn't look like she had any choice besides sitting back and waiting, like Finch had told her.

#####

Taylor wasn't home when she got in so she decided it was time to return one of the ten messages Fusco had left for her. She almost laughed when she got his voice mail. "Hey, Fusco, it's me. Sorry for not calling, but I-uh, yeah, I just needed some time. I was serious about the resignation. Go ahead and give it to Womack. I'll catch you later. We can grab a beer or something. No raw eggs, I promise."

She disconnected the call and set the phone down on the kitchen counter, her breath catching in her throat when she turned around and found Taylor behind her. "Jesus, you scared me! I didn't hear you come in."

"You resigned?" He looked shocked and hurt too, probably that she'd made such a huge decision without even mentioning it to him first.

"I didn't plan to do it, Taylor." She shook her head and reminded herself that her son was mature enough to handle the truth. "After this whole thing with John, I just couldn't face going back there. They were talking about giving me a medal for arresting him."

Taylor nodded thoughtfully. "So what are you going to do?"

"I have no idea." Once John was back, and she had to keep telling herself he would be, she knew Finch wouldn't need her around anymore. "This is why I always tell you to think things through before you act."

"What about going back to being a lawyer? You take those courses every year, right? Might as well use them."

With a wide grin, she crossed the room and hugged him. "Yeah, T, that's a good idea." She'd all but forgotten that she was still up-to-date on her CEUs, her credentials as a lawyer were valid. With no experience, she'd have a terribly boring job at first, but it was something to fall back on.

Taylor pushed away. "Ok, that's enough of hugging, mom."

Carter kept smiling. "I raised a brilliant son."

And that evening, as she was trying to sleep and thinking of John once again, she realized that her law degree had solved a second problem as well. She fell asleep with a smile on her face.


	9. Chapter 9

Part Nine

#####

She was up at the crack of dawn to get herself ready. Rather than the clothes she'd typically worn to work, she dug into the back of her closet, pulling out a dark gray suit. It had never been her favorite, but the slightly frumpy, below the knee length of the skirt would help sell the image. She pulled on hose and low heels, along with a light gray blouse before donning the suit. Her long hair was twisted carefully into a no-nonsense French twist. She put on some makeup, being sure to play it down.

As she looked at herself in the mirror, she realized she'd lost weight since she'd been in law school. The loose fit of the skirt added to the ensemble, she hoped. All she needed was a pair of reading glasses on a chain and she could convince the world she was a librarian. The briefcase she'd abandoned in the back of the closet completed the look, once she'd wiped off all the dust that had accumulated in eight years.

She left Taylor a note and slipped out the door, determined to hurry up and get there before anyone, including herself, could talk her out of it.

Finch was planning something, something he wouldn't let her be involved with, something that undoubtedly had as many chances of failing as it did of succeeding. She couldn't sit by and wait the way he'd instructed. If he failed, if John was handed over to the CIA, she'd never see him again. She couldn't live with that.

Even if Donnelly and Snow caught her, it didn't matter. She had to see John. That was all she cared about.

It was surprisingly easy, in fact, to get through security. She'd texted Finch at the last possible moment, telling him to fix whatever he needed to so that she'd appear as a current employee of the law firm he'd hired for John. Then she'd turned off her phone and marched right through the front door of the high security facility John had spent the weekend in.

She felt guilty, having resented sitting in Finch's car and watching Norton, when she was walking through the building, every door closing behind her, covered with bars, the heavy clang echoing off the cinderblock walls. As she waited in the small room, it seemed more like a cage than she'd ever noticed before. Of course, when she'd been in these places before, either as a cop or a law student, she'd been there with every right in the world.

Though she was technically breaking no laws, she was terrified that someone would catch her. She had to have passed a hundred cameras on her way through the building. There'd be no pretending anymore once people caught wind of her being there. Snow would have physical proof of her relationship with John, proof that she'd gone out of her way to deceive her way into meeting with him.

Her heart pounded in her chest. This act, more than her resignation, cemented her future. She'd thrown everything away for this man, for his cause. God help her if he wasn't receptive, if he didn't still see her worth beyond her former career.

She wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt and refolded her hands on the table, doing her best to maintain the charade as long as she could. Taking deep breaths, while trying not to hyperventilate, she told herself to calm down. She didn't want to be a wreck when he saw her. She didn't want to scare him or give him anything to worry about. He had enough trouble.

The clanging of several doors filled the air and she heard the footsteps approaching. Two, maybe three, sets of regular footsteps; then the shuffling steps of someone bound by leg irons. Her heart raced, sweat popping out on her brow, one leg bouncing uncontrollably under the table.

She kept her head down, giving only a curt nod when the guard reported they'd be right outside if there was any trouble. She heard the door slam shut, the heavy lock sliding into place. And then, she raised her eyes.

It was there for a moment, his thoughts evident in his normally emotionless expression. Shock. Amazement. Happiness. Relief. Love.

And then it was gone, all of it, his face a hard, angry mask. His eyes were narrowed, his voice harsh. "What the hell are you doing here?"

It caught her more off guard than her presence had caught him, apparently. She couldn't even process the fact that he was angry, not when she was still fighting back tears at seeing him again. Ignoring his reaction, she forced out a whisper. "Are you ok?"

"I'm going to kill him for letting you do this." He didn't need to say Finch's name, undoubtedly wouldn't in an attempt to protect him.

She bristled at the suggestion that Finch decided what she did and didn't do. "I wanted to see you. He didn't know about it until I was already here."

He leaned down, some of his commanding presence strangled with the way his wrists were chained to his waist. "Do you really think they're going to allow visitors without telling Snow? He's got all the proof he needs now."

She shook her head, refusing to acknowledge something she already knew was true. "I'm a lawyer, John. You have a right to talk to me, at least until Snow gets custody of you."

He glared at her. "You're fired." Then he turned away, shuffling closer to the door, about to shout for the guard.

Carter jumped out of her seat, moving around the table and blocking his path. "Stop it! You'll be in court in a little while and then you won't ever have to worry about me visiting you again. Can't you talk to me for a minute?"

He paused, his fury fading for a moment. "I can't believe you'd risk everything for no reason. You put everyone in danger with this stunt. The whole point of me doing this was to protect you and you threw it all away." He shook his head, his voice softer, his rage rising back up. "Sacrificing my life meant nothing to you."

"No, John," she gasped. She couldn't believe, didn't understand what he was thinking. Surely he knew her well enough to know that she wouldn't do such a thing. He had to know that she was there because it was worth sacrificing her own life just to see him again.

"Get out of here."

She grabbed his arm when he started to move around her. "I wanted to say goodbye." It wasn't true, she never wanted to say goodbye, but if this was her last chance, she wanted to clear the air. She wanted him to know the things she'd only just realized herself.

"I said goodbye to you at the warehouse." He shuffled around her, closing in on the door, a distance that wouldn't have taken him a single stride normally.

"No, you kissed me at the warehouse."

He turned slowly, his eyes moving to hers, cold, hard, emotionless. She knew without a doubt that this was the man other people saw. This was John the killer. She shivered, but she didn't move.

"I was trying to get you to do what I wanted." He shrugged one shoulder. "It worked."

It felt like someone had knocked her legs out from under her, the same way Snow had in the warehouse. She felt sick, nauseous, hot, short of breath too. She wanted nothing more than to run away, except she knew at that very moment her legs simply wouldn't carry her. He had to be lying. It couldn't be true.

She would die if it were true.

"You were manipulating me?" She tried to meet his harsh stare, but she couldn't. It hurt too much. She waited, hoping he would say something, anything, even apologize for having broken her heart for no reason, but he didn't speak. He just kept staring at her like he didn't even know her. "I don't believe you," she croaked out, hoping like hell he couldn't hear the painfully obvious heartbreak in her voice.

"Guard!" He didn't bother moving closer to the door, shouting for them and ending the conversation.

Carter slumped down into the chair John had been meant to sit in. Her whole body, ego, personality, everything deflating like a spent balloon. She'd meant nothing to him. She'd been an asset; something to use up and discard.

And that was exactly how she felt: discarded.

The guards arrived quickly, opening the door to take John away once again. Her eyes darted up, unable to ignore what was happening. Even if he felt nothing for her, she still didn't want him to be hurt or killed. Tears were sliding down her cheeks as she met his eyes, and she saw the moment he broke, the moment he realized how deeply he'd hurt her.

The mask was gone, his face filled with regret and pain and hurt. They were leading him away, but he fought them. His eyes revealed his panic that he'd given up his last chance to talk to her. "I wasn't really trying to manipulate you, Jos."

And then she couldn't speak. Whether it was his impending death or the fact that he'd never see her again or maybe seeing her in tears at his callous words, something had gotten through that thick skin of his. Rather than the impervious killer that had crushed her, it was John, the man, a man with regrets, a man she loved, being dragged away against his will. But nothing would come out of her mouth. All she could do was get up and lean against the bars, trying to see him as long as she could, knowing it was the last time she ever would.

He was craning his head to maintain sight of her as they pulled him down the hall, resisting them all the way. "Thank you," he shouted when he couldn't see her anymore.

She collapsed back into the chair, wondering how she would ever find the strength to move. The cruel words he'd said had already disappeared from her memory, replaced with the truth he'd offered when he'd run out of time. He hadn't been manipulating her. He'd kissed her because he wanted to. He'd thanked her for risking herself to see him.

He'd thanked her for more too, she realized. It wasn't just that ill-advised visit. It was her friendship and her protection and her loyalty. He'd thanked her for everything, really.

The image of him twisting his body in his desperate attempt to keep his eyes on her… that was going to stick with her forever. That was the real John. After all the power and sarcasm and knowledge was stripped away, he'd just wanted to see her for another second, needed to have the memory of her fresh in his mind when he faced whatever the morning would bring.

Probably the last morning he would be alive.

It took everything she had in her to stand up and make her way back to the car. Finch was sitting in the driver's seat waiting for her. As much as she didn't want to see him, she was relieved he was there. She wouldn't be able to drive, not with the tears that just wouldn't stop falling. She slumped into the passenger seat silently.

"I take it that your visit did not go well?" He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her. "Were you even able to see him?"

"I saw him," she sniffled, wishing desperately that Taylor was there so she could hug someone. The handkerchief did little more than smear her eye liner, but she appreciated having something to do with her hands. "He was pissed that I endangered everyone."

"I tried to warn you."

She turned, facing the condescending man with her bloodshot, teary eyes, unashamed of her emotions. "I needed to see him one last time."

"I thought we discussed that too." He glanced at the stained handkerchief and turned away to pull out into traffic.

"You don't know if your plan will succeed. I needed to see him." She hiccupped. "And frankly, he needed to see me."

That statement threw Finch and, had it been under any other circumstances, she might have laughed for finally one-upping him. After a moment, Finch swallowed and nodded. "Mr. Reese is of course assuming he's not going to survive for long. Seeing a friendly face when he's given up on such things would certainly mean a lot."

"I told him you didn't know anything about it, so he won't hold you responsible."

"I appreciate that," he offered a tight smile as he patiently waited in rush hour traffic, "however, considering that he was ultimately receptive, I might wanted to have shared the credit."

A few minutes later, he pulled into a parking space. "Wait here. I won't be long."

Carter was appalled when Finch returned, a bag from a bagel bakery under one arm, a cardboard carrier with three drinks in the other hand.

He leaned down and smiled. "Would you mind getting the door?"

Her tears had dried to salty streaks on her face as she leaned over, shoving open the door. "What the hell is wrong with you? How can you eat right now?"

Finch settled the bag in the backseat, relocating the drinks - two coffees and a tea - to the cup holders. There were sugar packets, sugar-free sweetener and creamers in the holder when he offered it to her. "I wasn't sure how you take it."

She had to admit the scent of coffee was calling to her, if only because she hadn't been able to sleep in days. She took some sugar and reached for one of the coffees, but paused. "Which is mine?"

"Either, they're the same."

She dumped the sugar in one and took a sip. Then she glanced at the third cup while Finch sipped at his tea. "Are we meeting someone?"

Finch raised one eyebrow and pursed his lips. "Could be." He pulled his phone from his pocket and fiddled with it for a moment. "Seems that Mr. Reese is at the courthouse. I don't know how long it will be before there's a decision. I doubt very long at all."

"Maybe you should have given the judge more money."

"That would hardly serve our purposes." Finch took another sip of his tea. "I imagine we'll know in a few minutes."

It was only due to her excessively emotional morning that she didn't throttle the obnoxious man beside her. "You know they're just deciding who gets to torture John for information, right? There's no chance that he'll be set free." She glanced at the bagels in the backseat, the delicious scent wafting throughout the car. "You seem to think there's some kind of good news coming."

"I am a bit of an optimist, Jocelyn. No harm in hoping for the best."

Frustrated as ever with the man, she ignored him and checked the texts Taylor had sent. He'd gotten her note and was in school, hoping her plans had turned out well. She wanted to answer him, tell him everything was fine, but she couldn't. Nothing was fine. She texted back that she loved him instead.

By the time she put her phone back in her pocket, Finch was staring at her. "Mr. Reese has been remanded to the custody of the CIA. The FBI lawyers were unable to produce enough evidence of their claims that Mr. Reese had information they needed."

Her stomach flipped over and she regretted the few sips of coffee. It was the worst possible news. Worse than a death sentence, if only because of how swiftly it would happen. A death sentence brought appeals and months of legal wrangling. The CIA would probably execute John in the parking lot.

"Time to go," Finch smiled as he pulled back into the flow of traffic.

Squeezing her eyes closed, she shuddered. She'd just received the worst possible news regarding their mutual friend and Finch seemed happier than ever. "Where are we going?"

"Someplace I like to sit and think."

Like she needed more time than the rest of her life to sit back and think about the pathetic way John had watched her when he'd known it was over. She fought back the tears, telling herself she needed to be more like John, to emanate his strength and courage, to keep up the fight on his behalf. She couldn't cry in front of Finch anymore because John wouldn't have.


	10. Chapter 10

Part Ten

It took a long time for Finch to navigate his way through the perpetually congested city streets, finally crossing into a peaceful, unpopular park, at least unpopular in the middle of a busy Monday morning. He pulled off the street and cut the engine, looking over at her as he opened the door.

"Care to join me?"

All she saw was a bench, the river, the city that she hadn't felt so far removed from when she was in Afghanistan. She'd been a New Yorker all her life and yet now, she didn't think she belonged anymore. She wasn't sure she belonged anywhere, except for with John. Which would be rather difficult.

In the absence of John, she realized Finch was the best she could do. John had chosen to befriend the man, after all. He'd chosen to work with him. It would have to do for her as well. "Yeah, sure."

Finch led her to the bench, a wistful smile on his face. "You know, this is where I met Mr. Reese. I'd seen him, but I'd never spoken to him. I arranged a lawyer to have him removed from your custody and had some friends bring him here." Finch frowned as he looked over at the Lincoln. "He didn't like me at first either. But I offered him a chance to pull himself together and he took it. He wasn't easily impressed with a life of wallowing in guilt."

She sat down beside Finch, her own mind drawing up the vague memories of the night she'd met John. "I'm glad you helped him get over Jessica. There was nothing he could have done to help her. I've seen so many cases of abused wives; no one can decide to save them besides themselves."

Finch nodded, his eyes returning to his phone. "I gave him a job, Jocelyn." He swallowed hard. "I believe you're the one who helped him get over Jessica. The real change in him came after he got to know you better."

Her face involuntarily curled into a smile. Though she doubted its veracity, the statement made her happy.

"I believe the two of you will make one hell of a team."

Carter sighed. "Little late for that now."

His eyes darted to his phone. "I feel like a child waiting for Santa Claus." He looked back up at her. "I'm aware that you have other employment options, not the least of which would be to reconsider your retirement from the NYPD, considering that your boss was rather pleased with you when you left and Fusco has yet to turn in your resignation."

"That would be a bit difficult since they've got me on camera visiting John in prison."

"There's also an opportunity for you to make a good name for yourself in law. I believe you would be an excellent litigator, considering your penchant for arguing with everyone." Once again, his eyes darted to his phone.

"As much as I appreciate the backhanded compliments, can you just get to the point?"

He cleared his throat, forcing his eyes from the phone. "I would like you to consider staying on with me. I can certainly make it a financially sound decision for you, full benefits for you and your son as well. Even with Mr. Reese back, there is more than enough work to do at any given time. In addition, considering recent events, I'm sure Mr. Reese will expect that you'll continue to be involved in our work."

"You're offering me a job? Again?" She stared at him for a moment, eventually comprehending the words he'd used. "With Mr. Reese back? Is there something you're not telling me?"

He looked at his phone again expectantly. "Not at the moment."

"Whatever." She stood up, taking a few steps toward the car before stopping and looking back. "I'll take the job, but only because I think I owe it to John, not to you." She didn't bother to wait for his response. She stormed back to the car and slammed the door.

She reached for her coffee, more out of habit than thirst, and realized that the third cup was missing. Someone had been in the car in those few minutes, someone who'd dared do it while the owner was a few feet away, someone, she realized with a start, who was still in the car. She was terrified beyond words, wondering what she'd walked into, fearing that of all the stupid things she'd done in the past, getting into a car without checking the backseat would be the one that took her down.

She swallowed hard, wishing she hadn't turned over her gun so easily, and steeled herself for whatever she'd find. Then she turned slowly, shaking with the anxiety of the unknown.

And there he was, dressed in his typical suit, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, smirking at her while he sipped his coffee. His eyes were dancing as they met hers.

She stared at him for a full minute, thinking she'd gone completely insane. But no, she told herself, if she was imagining John's presence, he wouldn't be sitting there smirking into his coffee.

"Get out."

At least that got his attention, the smirk faltering. "Excuse me?"

"Get out of the damn car." She watched the smirk fade entirely from his lips as he set his coffee down and reached for the door handle.

She followed suit, slamming her door shut as she closed the distance between them, throwing herself at him exactly the way she'd promised herself she would if she ever again had the chance. He was surprised for a second, finally realizing she wasn't angry or attacking. Her arms would over his shoulders, his arms around her waist. It was hard for her to say for certain who was holding on tighter.

There were so many questions forming in her head, but they all paled in importance to keeping John in her arms, at least until her arms started to shake from the exertion. Although really, her trembling limbs could well be blamed on the way his hand was rubbing gentle circles against her back, his voice soft at her ear as her shushed her. She'd honestly never thought of John as a comforter; he was a protector, a defender, a fighter. But now that she was in a position to receive reassurance from him, she realized he was as skilled with it as he was with everything else he did.

Her hands finally moved upward, her fingers searching for purchase in his short hair and finding none, eventually moving to his face, cupping his cheeks to look at him. "You're really here."

He grinned, a hint of a blush reddening his face. "Seems that way, doesn't it?"

She grinned back, happy tears replacing the ones she'd been crying all morning. "How?" Even John wasn't skilled enough to break out of the sort of armed escort the CIA would have had for him, not alone. "You know what? I don't care." She pulled him into another hug, squeezing him tight once again.

She was so happy to have him back that she really didn't care. Hell, she wouldn't even care if he asked her to stop hugging him. She wouldn't listen, but she wouldn't be hurt. She was too damn happy to hurt.

And so, it was a moment she knew she'd always remember when his arms closed tightly around her waist, pulling her fully against him and actually lifting her off the ground. Apparently there was very little chance of him asking her to let him go, not when he was just as happy to see her.

It was Finch's voice, rather unexpected since she'd forgotten he existed, that finally drove them apart. Barely. Though they were no longer hugging, they remained so close together their arms were touching.

"Good, I see things worked out." He picked up his phone, fiddling with it for a moment before making a call. "Confirmed. Payment has been transferred."

John grinned. "Figured you were behind it when they didn't kill me."

Carter piped up. "Ok, I'll bite. Who didn't kill you? How did you get free?" She didn't care so much about the answer, not as much as she cared about whether or not it would ok for her to lace her fingers through John's.

He was on the same page, shifting his weight slightly, allowing the entire side of his body to lean against hers. "The mercenaries that highjacked the transport I was in. I was expecting a bullet when the doors opened, instead they gave me a change of clothes and walked away."

Finch bristled. "I did not hire mercenaries. I own a number of security agencies, a fact of which you are well aware. One in particular had the right background for this job."

"Security companies are where mercenaries work, Finch."

Finch pursed his lips unhappily. "I did not hire mercenaries. I employed security experts."

"They're not listed in the phone book as mercenaries.

Looking very much like he was regretting his actions, Finch hissed. "Perhaps I offered mercenaries a legitimate job for once."

"It was hardly legitimate in the eyes of the law enforcement community." John bit back his grin, his eyes darting to Carter who, at least as far as he knew, was a member of said community. Rather than pretending to be annoyed, she chuckled.

"Fine. I hired mercenaries to attack the transport and free a wanted criminal. Are you happy now?"

"Yes."

"You're worse than that damn dog," came the muttered response. "I supposed I'll have to close the company now," he nodded to himself, his eyes darting around as he considered the situation. "I'll give everyone an excellent severance package and recommend employees apply at another of my agencies."

Finally, content with his plan, Finch glanced between them, his attention to detail almost certainly catching the physical contact. "There had been some staffing changes in our operation while you were detained, Mr. Reese."

John's smile faded, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. "Staffing changes? Should I reapply at one of your other agencies?"

"Don't be absurd." Finch offered a tight grin, motioning vaguely in Carter's direction. "You're already familiar with your new partner, Mr. Reese."

"Partner?" His eyes turned on her, curiosity battling with worry for dominance in his expression. "Carter?"

Slightly embarrassed by the scrutiny, she shrugged. "I had a philosophical falling out with the NYPD late last week." Her hands moved of their own accord, winding around his arm, holding him in case he tried to run away. "And Finch seemed satisfied with the work I did over the weekend."

Making no move to separate them, John glanced at Finch, who answered without needing to be asked. "A number came in while you were unavoidably detained. I did what I could." He turned toward a car that was approaching from the roadway. "I've requested a ride from the car service. Feel free to use mine," he said as he nodded at the Lincoln. "There are bagels for you if you're hungry. I don't imagine you've had anything at all to eat, let alone something healthy."

He only made it a few steps toward his ride before he looked back again. "Mr. Reese, please bring Jocelyn to the library when you're ready. We've got more work to do."

"Jocelyn?" John's head turned back and forth between his friends.

"Library?" She ignored John's question, her mind filled with her own. "And what's this about a number? Is that what you call people like Norton?"

"Have fun, Mr. Reese." Finch laughed as he walked away, knowing Carter was liable to grill Reese for hours for more information.

John met her eyes, his expression serious. "We've got a lot to talk about." He narrowed his eyes and checked that Finch's form was retreating. "I think he just gave me permission to tell you everything he told me to never tell you."

With Finch's car speeding out of sight, Carter's desire to question John further on the whole thing he and Finch had going faded. She dropped his hand, opting to slide her hands up his chest and behind his neck. "How about we get right down to business?" She didn't give him a chance to answer before she leaned up on her toes, grabbing the back of his head and pulling him into a kiss.

He responded exactly how she'd hoped, his quick instincts kicking in, his arms wrapping around her and pulling her hard. His mouth angled against her, his tongue probing her lips insistently, as though he wanted to make sure he acted before she could change her mind. He needn't have worried; she had no plans of letting him go.

While she allowed him to deepen the kiss, her hands shifted down, trailing back down his shoulders and chest, moving in at his waist under his jacket. His body was hot, warming her all over in a way she hadn't felt in years. She'd been so upset and scared while John had been in custody and, quite frankly, she hadn't expected him to respond so enthusiastically to her overtures, not right then. She'd thought he'd back off the sudden change in their relationship, let her down gently, but firmly, remind her that they needed to talk about work and get back to it, and maybe, at some far off point in the future, revisit the rampant attraction between them.

Most likely not.

And though she knew she'd be hurt by the perfect polite, well-meaning rejection, she was honestly so happy that John was alive and healthy and free she wouldn't mind. Not too much, at least.

She was still trying to work through the slow, disjointed thoughts in her head and process the fact that he was doing absolutely the opposite of what she'd expected when he raised the bar. His arm tightened around her waist again, lifting her off the ground again, turning and pressing her against the car. She tried to help, tried to open her legs wide enough for him to move closer, but she remembered the frumpy skirt she'd put on as her costume which unfortunately more or less kept her legs glued together from the knee up.

John was a problem solver, as always a step ahead of her, reaching down and tugging her skirt, raising the hem several inches. With the freedom his assistance brought her, she bent her left knee, lifting her leg, wrapping her calf around the back of his. His hips thrust into hers, his lips finally leaving hers, his groan a rush of heat against her throat.

She'd never been a fan of public displays of anything, but the park was deserted and she knew they were both damn close to, if not already over, the line of caring. She dug her nails into his waist to get his attention.

His head lifted sharply, the hand he'd been using to support her leg pulling back. "Jos?"

"Should we take this somewhere else?" She was fine if he refused or agreed.

His face fell, his worried expression almost funny under the circumstances. "Both of our places are really far." He reached for her leg again, his hand sliding up the outside of her thigh, working on raising her skirt further.

"Car?" She jerked her head toward the oversized luxury car, her hands pulling his shirt from his pants, her fingers caressing his bare skin.

His eyes were closed, his enjoyment of her touch obvious. Forcing his eyes open, he stared at her. "Finch'll kill us."

Encouraged by his lack of refusal, she raked her nails up his back. "So?"

He grinned, his hands moving to the buttons on her blouse, deftly undoing them. "We'll get it cleaned."

She smiled back, pulling the door open. "Finch said he thought we'd make a hell of a team."

John ducked into the car and yanked her onto his lap. "Finch is a smart guy."

"He is," she purred as she spread her legs and settled her weight onto a rather eager part of John's anatomy. "And that's the last we're going to think of him for a while."

"Good plan." He nodded as he helped her pull off his jacket and shirt, then pressed his lips back to hers, sealing their deal with a kiss.

And then they didn't think. Not about Finch. Not about Snow. Not about anything besides each other.

~finis~


End file.
